Getting Past Broken
by TycheSong
Summary: When Hermione decides she can no longer live with the mental scarring wrought by her vicious assault at Malfoy Manor, she enlists the aid of her former Potions professor in exchange for holding his life debt fulfilled... a very lemony tale written for the SSHG Prompt Fest 2013 based on a prompt by Shiv5468. It is complete in six parts.
1. Part One

**Summary: **When Hermione decides she can no longer live with the mental scarring wrought by her vicious assault at Malfoy Manor, she enlists the aid of her former Potions professor in exchange for holding his life debt fulfilled... a very lemony tale written for the SSHG Prompt Fest 2013based on a prompt by Shiv5468. It is complete in six parts.

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy

**Warnings:** This story is Alternate Universe (AU) and is rated MA. It is _not _suitable for children under eighteen. It contains strong language, violence, lemons (graphic depiction of sex), light bondage, and a ménage a trois involving Malfoy Sr.

**Thank You:** To the usual suspects driven mad in my quest to complete this in two months, Jenidralph, ThornedHuntress, and Nathaniel Cardeu. A warm and wonderful heartfelt thank-you to Shiv5468 for giving me an awesome prompt to play with, and the incomparable SusanMarieR, who has once again made the feeling of the story come to life in the beautiful banner. A special thank you also to Songquake for helping me with some Latin, and Savva, for letting me pick her brain about Eastern European names and spellings.

**The Original Prompt: **Hermione can't have sex in the missionary position because it gives her flashbacks to Malfoy Manor. Ron just can't let a women be on top. Enter Severus, a man keen to pay back his life debt to Hermione for saving her... (and Lucius, a man looking for forgivenes, if you'd like to add him)

* * *

**GETTING PAST BROKEN  
****By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Part One:**

"Wait…no…Ronald, _STOP!"_

A very naked and visibly upset Ronald Weasley rolled off his girlfriend of seven months and cursed. Awkwardly, Hermione sat up, her feelings rioting between remorse, anger, embarrassment, and hurt. He didn't notice and instead cursed again, turning to face her, glaring. Every centimetre of him appeared to be angry, including his erection.

Hermione supposed she couldn't _really_ blame him; she was repeatedly cutting him off right before sex, but how could he really blame her, either? It wasn't as if it was her fault. She'd _tried_ to get over it, and she _had_ told him that it was a problem for her. He simply refused to listen.

He had managed to talk her into losing her virginity to him, though the only position they had been able to work out was with her on her hands and knees in front of him. It had given him the level of control he wanted, and it at least hadn't been on her back, but the whole process had felt detached, painful, and humiliating. She had still had to fight off panic and had not experienced any of the bliss that purportedly came with sex. Ron had seemed dissatisfied as well and that, in turn, had made her feel even _worse._

There was really no way around it—she and Ron had a serious problem as far as sexual compatibility. Oh, the chemistry was good enough, she supposed. They could kiss and she would feel herself warm in response, but the truth was that Ron was a man very used to being in someone else's shadow: his brothers' and then Harry's and, academically, hers. It made him…very dominant in the bedroom, to the point where he had trouble getting off if he _wasn't_ in charge. Unfortunately, he did not seem to be capable of understanding the blind fear that the act triggered in her.

Hermione sighed and started dressing, only partially listening as Ron angrily began to inform her how unreasonable she was being. He was jerking on his own clothes, muttering about cold showers and blue balls and wanking because she was such a _tease_ when Hermione finally snapped.

"I told you! I _told_ you, Ron. I can't do it! I just…I just can't. Every time you pin me down all I can think about is how I can't move, and then I can't seem to keep myself from panicking. All I can think about is how terrifying it was in that…that house, and how much they hurt me, and how much it hurt the _last_ time we had sex, and my brain starts _screaming_ at me to fight and…and…I _told you,_ Ron! You said you'd help me through it, but all you do is yell at me to get over it, and try to hold me down again!" She was weeping openly, she realised, humiliated and angry tears leaking down her face to spot her pale blue shirt.

"You're a Gryffindor! You're supposed to bloody well face your fears!"

"And you're supposed to be my best friend! Even if you didn't purportedly love me, you're supposed to be my friend! Friends are supposed to support and help each other, not make them feel like crap because they have problems to work through!"

"Right! Yet you keep leaving me hanging. It took you half a year before you'd go out on a date with me after the war, and since then, it's been _seven months,_ Hermione. _Seven months,_ and we've only had sex the once!"

"I told you I might be able to…to _bear_ it another way, if you would only be willing to try! I'm not saying it has to be that way forever—"

"And I told _you_ I hate it when a woman rides me—it's just not right. I can't bloody well get off that way." He crossed his arms at her resentfully. "Lavender was a pain in the arse but at least she let me do it my way, and enjoyed every second of it. Even let me play with her arsehole once or twice. Certainly she never made me wait five fucking months and then turn me away afterwards. I swear, I put up with a hell of a lot from you; you're frigid, skinny, scarred up, bossy, whiny, and act like you're always right! If putting up with that isn't love, _nothing_ is."

Hermione recoiled as if slapped. There was a long pause, as they both stared at the other. "I think…I think it would be best if I left, Ron, and didn't come back." She drew a shaky breath and added, "Maybe you should try again with Lavender, since she apparently isn't _frigid."_

Tears threatening to choke her, Hermione left the beautiful London flat Ron had purchased after the war had ended and out into the early evening. She wandered aimlessly for a while; at first heading to the local pub to for a drink, only to change directions when she realised just how much noise there would be there. She was half-way home to the small, but pretty house she was leasing when she changed directions again, feeling lost and depressed. As much as she didn't want to be surrounded by noise, the thought of her empty, lonely home was unbearable.

Nearly two hours after she had left Ron's she was still aimlessly walking, her feet and mind numb, and her tears coming in short bouts just when she was certain she was done crying. Night had fallen, and she was running out of the energy she really needed to continue as she was, but she couldn't really think of a place to go, either.

It was too late to go to Harry and Ginny's; they were probably already getting ready for bed, and no doubt Ron would have gone there to whinge first. Ginny _was_ his sister after all, and Harry _his_ best friend as much as he was Hermione's. Luna was currently in Belgium. Neville was…Honestly she wasn't sure where Neville was. Hermione frowned, trying to recall. Now that she thought of it, she had not seen him in nearly two months.

She used to take tea Thursday evenings with Minerva as well…when had that stopped? Hermione came to a slow halt in the middle of the pavement as it dawned on her. That had ended about two months ago, as well. Right about the same time that Ron had started demanding more and more of her attention, and they had begun to have more and more intimacy…issues. A fresh wave of anger and hurt hit as she realised just _how much_ she had let him wrap her up in his needs.

Hermione tucked her arms around herself and shivered, suddenly feeling the early evening. She had a sudden, almost desperate need to see Minerva—the older woman's comforting but pragmatic presence was exactly what she needed at this point. She was probably even still awake—the older woman tended to keep to later hours in the summer when school was let.

Hermione ducked into an alley where she wouldn't be seen by any Muggles and glanced about carefully. She drew her wand from the sheath under her sleeve to send a _Patronus_ to Hogwarts, asking if she might stop by, only to have the spell fizzle. Drawing a frustrated breath, Hermione concentrated on her usual _Patronus_ thought. Most might assume that she focused on the end of the war, the death of Voldemort, but they would be wrong. The whole ordeal was so incredibly overwhelming to her emotions; there was no pure delight in it to be found, no way to pick the joy from the pain and the exhaustion of it all.

_The day I finally got an O on a Potions essay…_ Such a little thing, but it always brought with it the warmth of accomplishment and happy excitement. It was perhaps silly to find a school mark from three years ago inspiring enough to produce a _Patronus_, but Hermione had long since decided what no one else knew wouldn't hurt her.

She had been the only one to achieve an Outstanding in the class on any project the entire year—even the Slytherins had only managed Exceeds Expectations. The essay had still been marked with various red notations, but it had said "O" at the top, and the curt comment _"Better."_ Hermione had actually done an embarrassing little dance of happiness when she had finally managed to gain some privacy. After re-reading her own essay several times and all his comments, she had carefully folded and saved it away. She _still_ had it, in her home, along with a few other various precious items.

Hermione tried to concentrate on the feeling of seeing that O, of the elation that _Professor Snape_ had given _her_ an Outstanding, even if it was only on one essay, once. She waved her wand again, willing her Otter to appear. Once again, her spell fizzled as her frustration and hurt drowned out any feelings of happiness. The feeling of being let down by the one simple and silly memory she had always been able to count on hurt nearly as much as that horrid confrontation with Ron.

_Screw it._ Hermione finally decided. Minerva would not turn her away, and even if she were improbably asleep, Hermione would still be able to crash for the night in the comforting old castle. No matter how alone she was there, Hermione never felt _lonely_ at Hogwarts. Something about it always just felt like…home. Gripping her wand Hermione took a deep breath and Disapparated with a sharp turn.

Her teeth immediately began chattering. Night fell faster and was a lot chillier in the evenings at Hogwarts than in London, she recalled suddenly, and she hadn't a cloak or even a Muggle coat. She cast a quick warming charm, and sighed in relief when the air about her heated. She was quite a ways down the hill from the front gates of Hogwarts, and further still from the front doors.

Hermione picked her way gingerly up the road that ran between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, lighting the tip of her wand when it got too dark to see properly. Ahead of her, the castle was fairly dark, only a handful of windows glowed with warmth. A few of the outdoor magical torches along the parapet walks, the bridge and the pinnacle of the Owlery were lit, lending the castle an even more dramatically gothic look than she had remembered. Any moment she supposed a dragon might appear, or a giant.

A tiny smile dragged at the corners of her mouth. _Or at the least, a half-giant._ The thought entertained her, until she realised that because no one was expecting her, no one would be meeting her at the gates. She was still wondering how she was going to get the attention of Hagrid to let her in—and mentally cursing herself for not having gone home first to Floo Minerva—when she realised that she was not, in fact, alone at the gates.

His sweeping black robes and cool composure had made him blend almost effortlessly into the night; some things, Hermione thought nostalgically, never changed. Not that she was especially fond of Professor Severus Snape, but the comforting _constancy_ of Hogwarts _was_ why she was here, after all.

"Professor." She nodded her head, greeting him through the elaborate wrought-iron bars of the gate. "I don't suppose you would mind opening the gate for me?"

A dark brow lifted in response and his low drawl was dry. "Indeed, Miss Granger. I happened to catch sight of you from the castle. I hadn't realised that anyone was expecting you." A slender hand efficiently cast an override on the wards of the gates and then drew it open wide enough for her to slip through.

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "No one is. I…I had a bit of trouble conjuring a proper _Patronus._"

"I see." There was a wealth of understanding in those two small words, and Hermione was suddenly horribly glad it had been Snape to meet her at the gates. She was not sure she could have handled Hagrid's boisterous enthusiasm. Her day had just been so horrible, and the well-intentioned grounds keeper would have noticed right away—and _then_ would have pestered her for what was bothering her while attempting to feed her tepid tea and biscuits that tasted like rock-cakes.

They reached the large front doors of Hogwarts in silence, where the professor finally cleared his throat and ventured, "It was a nice day today. What brings you to Hogwarts?"

Hermione looked at him askance, feeling a wry smile twist her mouth, and asked incredulously, "Small talk, Professor Snape?"

The man grimaced and admitted quietly, "It isn't Thursday, and I couldn't help but wonder if you had come to call in my debt to you." He looked pained, and then added, "Considering, you should also probably begin to call me by my given name; I have not been your professor for a year now."

Hermione stopped short just inside the large open door, and stared at him. He had kept track of what day of the week she had used to visit the headmistress? Suddenly realising he was still waiting for a response, Hermione felt herself colour, and answer, "The thought never occurred to me."

His face was passive, but his eyes oddly lit as he questioned, "That I have a given name, or that you no longer attend school here?"

Hermione only barely kept herself from gaping openly. Had _Professor Snape_ just cracked a joke? "No, sir."

A brow arched in what was definitely amusement.

"I mean, Severus. I meant…well, no to any of it, really. It never occurred to me to take advantage of your purported life debt, or to refer to you so informally without express permission."

He was silent for a moment, and then simply stated, "Which I now have given."

Hermione felt her lips quirk; the simple invitation was horribly pleasing. "As you say, Severus, and you have mine to call me Hermione."

His lips tightened. "You realise, of course, that it does not matter if you acknowledge the debt between us or not. You saved my life."

Hermione shook her head firmly. "No more than any of the medi-witches saved any of the wounded."

"That isn't true. You came back when no one else bothered to, when no one else spared even the thought, and would likely have turned the other way had they even remembered. The debt stands."  
Hermione looked at her feet. "I never asked or expected it, and I didn't come here for that."

"Why _did_ you come?"

"I have not seen Minerva in a couple of months, and I've had a rather rough day and could use a hot cuppa." She answered, sighing. "To be frank, I was rather hoping I might stay for the evening."

His dark eyes stared at her a moment longer, before he responded, carefully, "I am certain it could be arranged, but I regret to inform you that she is out."

_"What?"_ Hermione heard her voice rise shrilly and saw her former professor's eyes widen in surprise. Mortified, but unable to stop herself, Hermione felt her lip tremble, and she said in a small voice, "But…but I _need_ her right now. _I don't know where else to go!"_ What little composure she had managed to attain since her last deluge of emotion crumpled entirely, and she burst into tears.

Honestly, she had rather thought she'd run out of them at this point. Yet here she was, weeping a horrid, slightly snotty waterfall in front of _Professor Snape_ of all people. He looked nearly as horrified as she felt, and entirely uncertain what to do with her.

"Miss Gra—Hermione," he said at last, her name appearing to stick in his throat. "The front entrance is an entirely unseemly place for such a hysterical display." He paused for a moment, and then added, "Please desist."

Hermione only cried harder, to both of their dismay. A moment later, his long fingered hand closed firmly about her upper left arm, and pulled her after him down the hallway. The pace he set was just a touch faster than she could keep up with comfortably; his grip on her forced her to jog a little. Her feet were already smarting from her nearly two-and-a-half hour walk; the low-heeled pumps that had been so comfortable in the store had not held up under the emotional over-use of the day. Each step in them now seemed to spike pain through her toes and jar up through her shins to make even her knees ache.

Nonetheless, the pace did make it difficult for her uncontrollable weeping to continue and instead finally reduced her to what she was certain was going to be a spectacularly nasty case of the hiccoughs. Unwilling to trust her traitorous tear-ducts to stay in line, Hermione tried to concentrate on regulating her breathing in order to banish the hiccoughs and take her mind off her abused feet.

Her ability to block out the aches didn't work; the flight of stairs downward was utter torture. Of course, now that she had noticed her feet, it was nearly impossible to focus on anything else. She was quite sure there were blisters forming under her pumps. Hermione was breathless, still hiccoughing and nearly back in tears from sheer pain by the time he ushered her into what appeared to be their final destination: his office.

She collapsed gratefully into one of the tall, straight-backed chairs facing his intimidating desk with an agonized groan, and bent to fumble with her left shoe. A small whimpering sound left her throat as she gingerly removed it, wincing as she caught sight of a large blister that had indeed formed on the side of her foot.

Professor Snape—Severus—turned at the sound with a dramatic swirl of his robes, and glared at her in annoyance. The look oddly soothed her; he had been behaving uncharacteristically _nice_ since she had arrived, their hurried gait through Hogwarts notwithstanding. His eyes narrowed fractionally when he saw her foot, and he watched with silent disapproval as—hiccoughing violently—she then removed the other, revealing a similarly blistered result.

"Why on earth did you not change your footwear when it became apparent that they didn't fit properly?" he groused, and stomped toward a door that no doubt lead to his private chambers. "I will return shortly; wait here," he muttered. "Whiny, senseless, insufferable Gryffindors."

His comment reminded her of Ron's earlier hateful words. _You're frigid, skinny, bossy, whiny, and act like you're always right, if putting up with that isn't love, nothing is!_ Hermione felt her lip tremble again. She knew she was hung up sexually and she wasn't the ideal vision of feminine beauty and, alright, yes, she _could_ at times take charge when perhaps she didn't need to, but it had still hurt horribly to hear it. And _whiny?_ She liked to think she generally was not, but if two people had said as much in only a few short hours…

When he reappeared after several long moments, bearing a jar and a slender-necked potion bottle, she was still shuddering from her own thoughts—not to mention the awful, chest-jarring hiccoughs—but she had herself more or less under control. He handed her the bottle silently; a brief inspection of the label declared it a Hiccoughing Remedy, which she gratefully accepted and swallowed. Her eyes slid closed for a moment while the cool solution slid down her throat, appreciating the way it calmed the spasms in her chest and her nerves along with it.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to find him regarding her warily. He held the jar he still possessed out to her, exchanging it for the now-empty bottle she had finished. The jar proved to be a salve for her blisters, and Hermione carefully began to dab it on her feet in the appropriate areas.

"Now, perhaps you would like to explain to me what has put you in such a state?"

Hermione wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms, and actually found herself chuckling wryly. "Circe, I'm a right proper mess, aren't I?"

"Indeed."

It was difficult not to glare at him. Apparently, the horrid man had never learned the Very Important Lesson that however one might agree with a woman's self-deprecating remark, one wasn't supposed to actually _say_ so. Even knowing that she shouldn't find this surprising coming from him, it was still rather startling to be agreed with so bluntly about her poor appearance.

Hermione pursed her lips instead of snapping crankily at the man; he didn't deserve it after everything. He had honestly been incredibly cordial considering that she'd appeared randomly and then cried all over him. She _did_ wish, however, that he would stop staring at her expectantly like she was a student who had broken the rules. Desperate to regain the sense of near-amity and humour they had attained before her embarrassing melt down, she finally asked, "Is it possible to have a cup of tea? I feel like I'm being interrogated."

He rolled his eyes—rolled his eyes!—at her, and made a sarcastic gesture at the door he had disappeared through earlier. Feeling both curious and shy, Hermione stood carefully in her bare feet, and then bent to retrieve her shoes from the floor. When she turned to face him again, she was surprised to see his eyes jump fractionally. Had he been looking at her _arse?_ The action was so minute and fast, she nearly managed to convince herself that her mind was playing tricks on her; a careful study of his expression only revealed slightly bored impatience.

Feeling self-conscious, Hermione preceded him into the adjoining room. She could _feel_ his presence behind her, dark, solid and unyielding—and now she couldn't help but wonder if those dark eyes were trained on her arse as she did so. Once inside what looked to be his private sitting room, she spun abruptly, hoping to catch him off guard and see if he _was_ looking at her, only to completely catch herself off balance and land with an undignified yelp on the floor.

He stared down at her, his eyes oddly lit again in what she was beginning to recognise as his expression of amusement. "Let me guess—stop the room; you'd like to get off?"

She had expected something cutting; his puckish sarcasm was so incongruous that Hermione couldn't help the short burst of mad laughter that escaped her. "Yes, actually, it's become quite the problem. I can't get off, or even get _him_ off! What sort of failure of a woman can't manage to even 'lie back and think of England'?" She clapped a hand over her mouth as if to hold the words back, staring at him wide-eyed.

His own eyes had rounded and his brows furrowed in shock. "I _beg_ your pardon?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and wondered if falling through the floor was at all possible if one wasn't a ghost. "I _cannot_ believe I just said that. I'm sorry, that was _entirely_ inappropriate."

He stared at her a moment longer, clearly unsettled, and then muttered, "Tonight is going to be one of those that make me regret giving up alcohol." He turned abruptly and swept out of her line of sight, leaving her on the floor. Hermione only barely stifled a groan of mortification, and levered herself back to her feet.

The room was not at all what she had expected. She wasn't entirely sure what she _had_ expected; something similar to his office, she supposed. Judging by that space, she would have expected him to favour dark green and cherry wood furnishings and a dank, oppressive atmosphere, assisted by various dusty and cobwebbed jars of pickled…things. His sitting room told an entirely different story.

His furniture was still cherry wood, but it was polished to a rich, beautiful gleam, and the only green to be found was a pale, sea-foam green paired with what could only be called a champagne gold. The two soft colours accented the room here and there, but the predominant colour in the décor was _cream._

The cherry wood framed couch and low backed, stuffed chairs were cushioned in cream; thick, cream-coloured rugs covered the room's natural flagstone floor in strategic places, and even what little available wall space there was available was hung with tapestries in muted, complimentary colours. It was the obvious work of a woman, Hermione decided. Everything fit together just too perfectly, the colours blending and complimenting each other, right down to the slightly worn and clearly loved crocheted afghan that been left carelessly in a heap on one end of the couch. There was simply no way Hermione could believe that Severus Snape had decorated his own rooms with such ruthless panache.

The only things that pointed to it actually being his rooms were the books. Glancing about, Hermione could not help but sigh a little enviously. Floor-to-ceiling cherry wood bookcases took up the vast majority of his available wall space, each filled to brimming with writings of every size and kind.  
He seemed to own everything from large illuminated manuscripts and heavy grimmoires to the usual research texts and novels. Carefully ordered periodicals took up a full bookcase, and another was even customized with broad latticework shelving, instead of traditional straight shelves, to hold stacks of scrolls rather than books. Books rested sideways on top of other books, where he had run out of room, and random stacks of parchment and writing journals were jammed into a section that was clearly reserved for his personal notes.

It was exactly the sort of room she would like to own one day. Feeling a little entranced, Hermione made her way over to the nearest section of shelving, and blinked. The section she had randomly planted herself in front of was devoted to various religions and philosophies. Like his sitting room, it wasn't what she had expected at all. Wonderingly, Hermione reached out and removed an English translation of Tao Te Ching, opening it idly. His return interrupted her perusal of it.

"I was searching for answers, first when I was teenager, and then again after I survived. There are times when I can't help but wonder if there is some meaning to it all…some higher power or purpose. We can joke all we like about making our own luck whilst brewing Felix Felicis, but I wanted to _know."_

Hermione carefully replaced the book and dropped her hand to her side, turning to look at one of the most intelligent men she had ever known. "What conclusion did you come to?"

Severus grimaced and set the mugs of tea he had procured down on one of the room's tables. "I didn't. I still believe that there very well might be a higher power, but I have no idea which it might be, or if any of the thousands offered is truly correct." His voice fell into the pattern that she recognised as his "lecturing voice" as he continued. "Witches and wizards tend to venerate the ancient gods of whatever land they are from and their ancestors and heroes—it's one of the reasons bloodline importance has been such a persistent topic. However, I find it difficult to believe that Merlin or the Founders or Cassandra were really so different than we are today. In several hundred years will young witches and wizards swear by Harry or Dumbledore, or you?"

"Or you?" Hermione answered lightly. "You did more to win this war than I ever did."

He looked horrified. "Merlin forbid."

"Why, Severus, don't you mean Harry forbid?"

"Don't make me toss you off the castle wall when I've just made you tea. I already owe you a life debt, and it would not bode well with whichever god or goddess that _does_ exist to kill you at this point." He waved a hand at the couch. "Sit."

Hermione couldn't help a little huff of laughter, and sat into the thick cream-coloured cushions, picking up the warm mug to the side of her. "You're not what I expected at all."

He sneered. "I suppose you had me all figured now that you have been made privy to my history and my alleged personal motivations."

Hermione felt herself blush, and she tilted her head at him, conceding his point. "I beg your pardon; I didn't mean to be rude. I just…You were never this tolerant of me as a student, and I never would have anticipated cream, champagne and sea-foam décor, or tapestries, or religious musings, and…well…good humour."

He looked defensive. "What, the evil, horrible Death Eating teacher can't have a sense of humour or wonder about the afterlife? Rather unsporting of you when I've managed to incur _three_ life debts in only thirty-nine years."

_"Three?"_ Hermione's mouth fell open.

His mouth firmed into a hard, displeased line. "You have been made aware already of my debt formed as a student, which I fulfilled in your first year. The second debt I owed to Albus Dumbledore after a particularly nasty night as a young man. His terms for fulfillment were that I use my regretted status as a Death Eater to spy for the order until released from the duty. He held my oath fulfilled once I agreed to take his life in Draco's stead—I would not have done it otherwise. You are…intimately aware of the third debt I owe. It should not surprise you that I am eager to converse with you in hopes of learning how I might discharge it."

"I have told you I do not hold you bound to it!" Hermione protested.

"As I have told you that it does not work that way." His eyes narrowed in irritation. "I can feel the enchantment binding me, it does not go away simply because either of us will it to. I really did think you were brighter than that, Hermione."

She sighed, suddenly feeling every minute of the wretched day, and asked resignedly, "Well, how might we dismiss it? You have done more than enough for this world—I have no wish to keep you beholden to me."

He gave her a disgruntled look. "You must set me a task to fulfil; ideally one that _doesn't_ result in your death."

"That's all?" Hermione felt incredulous. "Well, then I task you to pour me another cup of tea and put me up in the castle for the night."

"Don't be deliberately obtuse," he snapped.

"I am not being 'deliberately obtuse,' I'm being _tired!"_ Hermione raised her voice to a near shout. "I've had a very long and trying day that started with my boss taking credit for my work, after which my boyfriend and I had a row culminating in him calling me skinny and frigid. Then I had a humiliating melt-down, blistered my feet, and now I've got an impossible _arse_ informing me he feels obligated to be polite. This is before calling me obtuse, mind you!"

Severus seemed to struggle with biting back his own remark before finally responding stiffly, "I apologise." It escaped clenched teeth, but the apology was there, it was more than he had likely done for anyone else in quite possibly years.

Suddenly feeling chagrined for her outburst, Hermione took a healthy swallow of her tea, and said at last, her tone overly courteous. "Please elaborate, if you will, about what sort of task I might set you at to free you from your imposed obligation."

He responded with similar cautious civility, "A life debt may only be discharged by either the return of the favour, or by the completion of a task that the holder desires to the depths of their soul, the very marrow in your bones. It is not a simple thing to even divine, much less complete. Most desire something at that level which is truly unattainable, particularly by another person."

Hermione glanced at him, startled. "What chance have you then of ever being free?"

His mouth had turned down into a scowl again. "Very little. If the debt-holder is not both reasonable and very self-aware, or if the one indebted simply has nothing to offer of worth that the debt-holder requires…" his voice trailed off. "I will admit to have held…hope…that you might be one of these. The first life debt I found myself bound in took me fifteen years _and_ had to transfer to the next generation in order to be held fulfilled.

"I have been as oddly fortunate in repaying life debts as I have been oddly prolific in gaining them. It is one of the reasons I still find myself believing that a higher power must exist." He frowned into his tea mug. "I'm fairly sure it continues to keep me alive, despite everything, for its personal amusement."

Hermione looked at him seriously. "I cannot promise that I will know the answer to this particular dilemma, or that the correct answer will be something you can help me achieve, but I will think on it; it is not my wish for you to remain beholden to me."

She smiled wryly and stood, setting her mug down and picking up her shoes. "On that note, I should probably go to bed. Where am I to be put for the night? No doubt the usual room Minerva puts me in is not ready?"

Severus stood as well and, to her surprise, fell into step beside her as they left his rooms. "You would be incorrect. The house elves keep the guest wing in a constant state of readiness. Which do you usually claim?"

"It's a lovely suite of rooms just off the fourth floor corridor."

Severus turned his head abruptly to consider her as they walked. "That's not in the guest wing—those are staff quarters."

Hermione ducked her head. "Yes, I suspect Minerva originally put me in them as incentive."

"Incentive," he repeated, a curious lift in his voice.

"She's been trying to woo me from the Ministry, practically since the end of the war." Hermione chose her words carefully, attempting to remain tactful. "From what I am given to understand, the current transfiguration teacher is a bit…casual."

"A lax, overindulgent idiot, you mean."

"Ah. You share the opinion, then."

"Indeed, the Head Mistress is particularly displeased since it is her previous subject. She never seemed quite so horrified about such things when it was the Defence post." A small smile tipped his lips. "Save for the Lockheart year, of course. I think she even preferred the teaching methods of Dolores Umbridge."

"Really, you think so?"

"Abhorred the woman, of course, that couldn't be helped, but at least she attempted to control her classroom. Azalea Fairchild is like Lockheart in that she seems to be more preoccupied with her social status with the students than with teaching them. When attempting the same, Horace at least actually bothered with teaching and discipline, as well. I had not realised she had offered you the position."

"I have given it some thought; I don't find the idea unappealing, particularly after days like today. I am unsure that I would be comfortable with it, however—especially considering that I was a peer of most of the students only two years ago."

"It was one of my largest hurdles when I first started," he responded.

They walked in silence for a while, Hermione forcibly telling herself to not to steal incredulous glances at the dark figure beside her. She had never really imagined herself carrying on a conversation with Severus Snape as an equal. She had become friends with both Minerva and Filius following graduation, but the stark Potions master had always loomed in her head as remote and unsociable, despite being several decades closer to her own age. Seeing this side of him was both surreal and slightly thrilling.

Hermione paused when they reached one of the ready guest suites, and gave him a shy smile. "Thank you for letting me in and listening, putting up with my 'hysterical display' and for the potions. I really do appreciate it."

He inclined his head, the amused light back in his eyes. He had clearly noticed how disconcerted she was. "I have been an instructor at Hogwarts for eighteen years, and Head of Slytherin House for twelve of those; yours was not the first 'hysterical display' I have dealt with. I trust you recall from earlier visits what time most full-time residents gather for breakfast?"

She nodded in response and, after a slightly awkward pause, murmured "Goodnight," and went to bed. Emotionally exhausted, Hermione found herself drifting off to sleep quickly; she had only barely crawled into bed and doused the lights before she found her eyelids getting heavy and her mind fogging with sleep. With sleep, came dreaming.

* * *

_Pain._ Her body was wracked with it, her mind overwhelmed with a blind, panicking fear. Acid was running through her veins instead of blood, her heart convulsing and lungs restricting with every breath she took. She could feel tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and into the messy, unwashed mass that was her hair, and fancied it was blood rather than salt water. Her entire being felt on fire; each nerve ending was screaming in agony.

Her shirt had been torn open to provide access to her torso. Hermione was uncertain at this point if the pain raging there was a result of the gouges left by Bellatrix's cursed knife or the several times she had been hit with the _Cruciatus._ Her own screams rang in her ears—a mixture of pain and terror and anger—her throat had been rendered raw with them.

Perhaps if Bellatrix had used the Full Body Bind curse on her, she would not have fought as wildly—perhaps her brain would have recognised the futility. Instead, Fenrir Greyback was holding her down with brute force—his filthy, hairy arm across her throat, his teeth bared in a horrible parody of a smile, his legs between hers. It had triggered an answering animal instinct in her, and she had struggled fiercely, her mind unable to comprehend that escape was impossible.

Her fear and pain excited him; she could feel his erection against her, could smell his foul breath puffing across her face in aroused pants. "You're a bit old for my appetite," he had informed her, "but you're so very _lively!_ Do you suppose she'll let me have you, after you've told her everything she wants to know?" He had ground his hips into hers and his free hand had viciously pinched at one of her nipples, through the fabric of her tattered bra.

"I wonder if I will be your first. I _love_ the smell of virgin blood on my shaft when I rip into a cunt for the first time." He laughed raucously when his comment drew a fresh round of frenzied distress from her, and continued, "I suppose it's likely too much to ask after you've been following two males around like a bitch in heat… I'll bet your little arsehole is still virgin, though…and oh, yes, you can be sure I'll have that too. I'm going to fuck you bloody in every hole you have, little girl."

Hermione saw red. She was not sure how much later Bellatrix's words cut through her terror, probably only a few moments, but it felt like eons had passed in her desperate fight to be free of his heavy body. "Perhaps I will let you have her, or perhaps not. It depends on what information the filthy little Mudblood decides is worth giving up in return."

The possibility that she might _not_ be horrifically raped very nearly made her babble everything: the Horcuxes, the Hallows, that it truly was the Sword of Gryffindor still clutched in Bellatrix's off hand. Only the sure knowledge cutting through her that the lunatic would give her to the werewolf anyway kept her tongue in check.

The _Cruciatus_ seared her again; Greyback's appreciative laughter grunted in her ear. His furry chest abraded her wounds, causing blood and sweat to drip down her rib cage to the floor underneath her. The air stank of copper and salt, and Hermione's vision tunnelled.

"Aw, don't pass out on me now, love, I like it better when you're screaming…"

The scream was still on her lips when she jolted awake, bolting upright in the unfamiliar bed. Hermione gasped in a breath, and scrubbed her hands over her face. They came away damp—she had been sweating and weeping in her sleep, and for good reason. She shivered a little in remembered terror, and gathered the thick down comforter more tightly to her chest.

It had been a while since she had dreamt of that horrible day—it hadn't happened for nearly a month now, the last time she had attempted intimacy with Ron. He seemed incapable of engaging in the act without trying to put her on her back beneath him. Every time he did Hermione would trigger, and _hard._ If she slept at all she would usually wake up in terror, as she just had. It had finally managed to destroy their relationship, she realised, drawing in a shaky breath. How much else would she let it destroy?

Hermione felt tears on her face again and, feeling frustrated, she stood, leaving the bed to walk unsteadily to the small toilet connected to the bedroom. At the sink she wet a cloth and dabbed at her face, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.

"You look terrible. Bad dreams?" her reflection asked.

"Thanks," Hermione said sourly. "That's a bit of an understatement. Old memories…We may have won that godforsaken war, but it broke something in me. They took away any possibility of me getting to really live."

"Surely you're being melodramatic," the mirror answered dubiously. "Perhaps some better hair products, getting your nails tended to…?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and continued, slightly desperately, "Because of this…block, I'm completely unable to satisfy a man. While it's not the _most_ important thing about a relationship, it _is_ certainly a crucial aspect of one. I…I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life because I can't get past those memories. They shouldn't be able to control me like this! How am I supposed to be happy alone?" she burst.

Her reflection looked annoyed. "I'm a mirror, dear, not a therapist. You should put some damp teabags on your eyes when you return to bed. The circles you have there are ghastly."

Growling under her breath, Hermione stomped back into the bedroom, and crawled back into the bed, pulling the comforter up over her. She stared up at the darkened ceiling for a several long minutes, and then, desperately hoping it was later than she suspected, grabbed her wand off the bedside table and cast a _Tempus._

It was not quite five, which _was_ later than she had anticipated, but still not late enough to really be up and about. Hermione fiddled with her wand, watching as the glowing hands on the conjured clock switched to 4:52 right before they faded from view, leaving a green after-image burned into her vision. Restlessly, she tilted her head on the pillow, and considered casting the _Tempus_ again, even though she knew it would only make her situation worse.

Finally giving up on sleep and sighing irritably, Hermione sat up in the bed and flicked her wand to light one of the room's lamps. A quick glance about the room proved there to be no books that she might read; the guest suite had little in it beyond the basic essentials. Pressing her lips together in a thin line Hermione tossed back the covers once more and headed back into the bathroom, flicking her wand at the lights as she went.

"Back so quickly?" her reflection asked. Hermione ignored the mirror and turned the taps on the bathtub, grateful the ledge was stocked with shampoo and conditioner. Approximately half an hour later, she re-emerged, feeling considerably less grumpy and more human. A few swishes of her wand saw her skirt and blouse from the previous day transfigured into a simple black wrap dress that might have doubled for modern-looking robes, and a pair of ballet flats. Even healed her feet just were not up to pumps today, especially considering the amount of staircases in Hogwarts.

Strapping her wrist sheath on Hermione left her room as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake up any of the portraits. The combined chill from the morning air and her still wet curls made her shiver lightly, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to ward it off. She frowned as she walked, lost in thought as she headed down the southernmost hallway of the guest wing towards the main staircase corridor. She wasn't entirely positive where she was intending to end up; she was walking more out of habit rather than because she had a particular destination in mind.

An idle glance out of one of the high, arched windows overlooking the gardens and greenhouses brought her up short. Though still low on the horizon the sun had already crested, creating an eerie landscape of long shadows and glittering morning dew. Hermione had forgotten just how stunning the early hours at Hogwarts were—the scenery was achingly lovely. It wasn't, however, what had arrested her attention so abruptly.

Two floors below her, nearly hidden by the deep shadows in the Herbology gardens, was Severus Snape, sans cloak and frock coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose pale, strong forearms. Oddly mesmerized, Hermione watched as the early light highlighted the stark contrast of the Dark Mark marring the pale skin of his left arm. The same light cast his hawk-like features into a study of severe lines and hard angles, hollowing his cheeks and deepening the set of his eyes, even as it affirmed his strong jaw line. His deft movements were sure and graceful; his gaze intense and focused on his task.

He was, in that moment, oddly, starkly beautiful in a way she wasn't sure she would have been able to explain to someone else. Severus Snape was by no means a beautiful man, or even a handsome one, but he was, in that moment, attractive. It startled Hermione to realise it; he was so very different in both appearance and mannerisms from Ron. Yet this image of him, bent in the early light, looking strangely absorbed and peaceful as he diligently tended to the plant, was incredibly compelling. The thought of all that fierce concentration on her…heat curled low in her stomach and pricked her arms with goose bumps. Her lips parted on an unsteady breath.

She was just the slightest bit aroused, she realised, possibly even more than merely slightly. Hermione felt her eyes widen even as her brows furrowed. That was incredibly unusual. It usually took a discernible amount of effort on Ron's part to put her in this state—certainly more than just an unreturned glance from a distance. Something about the fresh Scottish light, perhaps, Hermione wondered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Perhaps her problem was merely the setting, or that she was not in the correct mood that made her memories so hard to banish. Curious, she studied Severus more closely, taking advantage of the fact that he was unaware of her presence, and imagined those meticulous hands on her, his dark gaze locked with hers... She sucked in an unsteady breath when her body reacted to her thoughts, her breasts suddenly sensitizing and a low ache blossoming between her thighs. Encouraged, she tried to imagine him actually in bed, on top of her, and her mind exploded into panic, automatically replacing him with an image of Greyback, and then blanking in red terror.

Hermione shivered again, all traces of interest gone, and shook her head, trying to clear the images. There had to be a way for her to get past these memories—there just _had_ to be. She was clearly never going to be able to have a normal, healthy relationship with them intact. Not even a Pensieve was able to remove a memory completely—she had tried, and her reaction to Ron's attentions had been no different. The memories of Malfoy Manor were just too forceful. Calming Draughts hadn't been able to touch them either. In fact it had only made it more difficult for Ron to arouse her. Surely there was something she could do—there wasn't anything she wanted more than—

Hermione felt her mouth drop suddenly as she realised what she was thinking, the Professor's words from the night before returning to her. This._This_ was what she needed to have her life back—to have _herself_ back. The possibility of having those memories gone forever, to be able to start over in a relationship without that awful night hanging over her head, actually made her heart ache and her lungs squeeze in longing.

_Obliviation._ She had read that it was a horribly dangerous spell if one was untutored in mental magic, but Severus Snape was renowned for being something of a prodigy in that area—had he not assisted her with her parents' memories before the war? His precision and effortless ability in mental spells was legendary. If he could _Obliviate_ Malfoy Manor and everything that had happened to her there, not only would she _finally_ be free, but so would he. It was an utterly perfect and simple solution to both of their problems.

Hermione took a deep breath and smiled, feeling the tightness in her chest loosen a bit as a giant weight lifted. She could give him the means to save her—and himself—and then they would both finally, _finally_ free to live. She nearly skipped down the stairs to the garden.

* * *

_A/N: And so our tale begins. :-) Thanks so much for reading! This story is already complete in six parts, written over the course of two months, and will be updated weekly. These are longer chapters than what you usually see from me-this story a total of nearly 50,000 total, about the same length that my WIP, Severus, Redux is at this point too. Please be sure give props to my alphas and beta who were with me through the whole thing!_


	2. Part Two

**Summary: **When Hermione decides she can no longer live with the mental scarring wrought by her vicious assault at Malfoy Manor, she enlists the aid of her former Potions professor in exchange for holding his life debt fulfilled... a very lemony tale written for the SSHG Prompt Fest 2013based on a prompt by Shiv5468. It is complete in six parts.

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy

**Warnings:** This story is Alternate Universe (AU) and is rated MA. It is _not _suitable for children under eighteen. It contains strong language, violence, lemons (graphic depiction of sex), light bondage, and a ménage a trois involving Malfoy Sr.

**Thank You:** To the usual suspects driven mad in my quest to complete this in two months, Jenidralph, ThornedHuntress, and Nathaniel Cardeu. A warm and wonderful heartfelt thank-you to Shiv5468 for giving me an awesome prompt to play with, and the incomparable SusanMarieR, who has once again made the feeling of the story come to life in the beautiful banner. A special thank you also to Songquake for helping me with some Latin, and Savva, for letting me pick her brain about Eastern European names and spellings.

**The Original Prompt: **Hermione can't have sex in the missionary position because it gives her flashbacks to Malfoy Manor. Ron just can't let a women be on top. Enter Severus, a man keen to pay back his life debt to Hermione for saving her... (and Lucius, a man looking for forgivenes, if you'd like to add him)

* * *

**GETTING PAST BROKEN  
****By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Part Two:**

Severus Tobias Snape had always considered himself to be a very intuitive man. He was able to understand the measure of a person, a potion, or a situation very quickly; it had always been one of his talents. If he had only been so endowed with charm and fair features as well, his life might have turned out very differently.

In this alternate world, Severus might have had a more solid sense of support from his peers at school, and have been less of a target, despite his intensity. Slughorn would likely have taken more of an interest in him and he would have had clear backing. Perhaps Lily Evans would have been attracted to him and not merely his friend out of a sense of childhood obligation. Perhaps they would have embarked upon a relationship that would have eventually run its course and ended before her interest had ever turned to James.

As an adult, Severus knew that he and Lily would never have truly worked as a couple in a long-term sense—handsome or not, his interest in the Dark Arts _was_ genuine, and would have eventually driven her away. Even if it had not, he would still have been a Slytherin, still likely have gained her enmity in later years when he was no longer able to tone himself down around her, and still likely have joined Voldemort out of a combination of peer pressure and his own fascination with the Dark Arts. Lily Evans had been a girl who had needed gentle handling of her delicate sensibilities—caustic words and cutting wit were highly hurtful to her—she wasn't the sort who could verbally spar without anger and resentment.

He had always been so very careful around her, pussyfooting and gentling himself to suit her needs in his own misguided sense of hormonal attraction and desperation to keep his only "true" friend. The connection he hadn't made at that age was that, in order to continue their friendship, he had to be that way with _everybody,_ and not just her. Word inevitably reached her of his usual and customary responses to annoyances and idiots and, of course, she could see his interest in the Dark Arts for herself. When added on top of that the discomfort of knowing he was interested in her and not returning the attraction…well it was no wonder the chasm and resentment between them had grown on both sides.

He could see it all now very clearly; he had puzzled it all out within the first year or so following her death. He had finally been mature enough at that point to sort it out, and had possessed no shortage of time to think. It was a pity that he hadn't been nearly as intuitive as an adolescent as he had thought himself to be. He might have realised then the futility of his crush and drawn the logical conclusion that he would have resented her for changing him, as much as she had resented him for refusing to let her go. Perhaps she would not have turned into an obsession for him and his choices as a young man would have been broader.

Severus felt his lips quirk as he remembered how consuming she had felt to him—that desperate surety that she was the love of his existence and always would be. Hormones were absolute hell on the teenage psyche and their logic, not to mention their actual decision-making. Likely nothing would have changed in the slightest.

Which brought him to Hermione Granger. She wandered through his thoughts on a regular basis—how could she not, when he could feel the subtle compulsion in the back of his mind that linked them? It tickled at him on a regular basis, usually in those short moments when he briefly managed to forget about it. He was very nearly able to ignore it—had he not lived with the feeling of someone else's life demanding first consideration since he was sixteen? The more one tries to ignore something, however, the more it tends to worm into one's consciousness, even if one is a master Occlumens.

The girl's situation did not actually seem too different from his own with Lily, the major difference being of course, that she had given in to the Weasley boy when he would never truly be right for her. She was likely afraid of losing his friendship, or nervous that she wouldn't find someone who was suitable. Why else would she involve herself with him? He was clearly more interested in her than she was in him, and for good reason.

Weasley couldn't possibly keep up with her mentally, and their interests were so divergent that the idea of common ground was very nearly laughable. Potter was the adhesive in that threesome; without him or their shared ideal of a Voldemort-free world binding them together, they really had nothing to keep them from falling apart but their own Gryffindor stubbornness.

Even she had mentioned in a rather embarrassingly emotional and inappropriate slip of the tongue that Weasley couldn't satisfy her sexually; that even the notion of bedding him put her in the mind-set of a harassed, put-upon wife. If that was not an obvious sign of someone forcing herself to be more interested in her partner than actuality, nothing was.

Thank heavens he didn't have to deal with such things any longer. After Potter had broadcast his alleged "reasons" for his double agent status, he had been painted in an alarmingly romantic light. Little idiot never thought for a moment that the memories released to him were carefully chosen to appeal to his own sense of Gryffindor morals. Of course, any major life decisions would have been made for love, no matter how long ago the events took place. Certainly it never would have occurred to Potter that a man was an entirely different person at forty than at twenty, or that the nightmarish years of being a double agent were due to owing Albus Dumbledore a life debt that he desperately wanted to be rid of.

Potter's loud mouth had cleared his name definitively of any guilt, at least legally, and had gained him not only an Order of Merlin, First Class, but also a rather substantial monetary reward. Unfortunately, it had also come with some rather lamentable side effects. For several months, there had been a great deal of Britain's population that seemed to think he would make excellent husband material, he only needed to be hugged more often, or some other such nonsense, to make him see the truth of how perfect the notion was. He had received love letters, "casual" run-ins at shops, several marriage proposals, and notably, even a pair of witches who had—independently of each other!—both claimed to have already married him _in absentia_ in spiritual ceremonies. Horrifying.

The positive aspect of the completely ridiculous affair was that his sex life had become considerably more active. Thus far he had been careful about his choices, sticking to partners he was certain were more interested in his fame than their marriage prospects. He had only been forced to deal with an embarrassing scene once. He honestly wasn't sure what the woman had really expected; his reputation for being a bit of a bastard was hardly secret, and he had never once lead her to believe that she was anything but a tension reliever.

Weasley on the other hand…the young man was certainly a thoughtless idiot, but he had never had the reputation for being cruel. Severus had not thought he would be the sort to make his girlfriend cry as vehemently as Hermione had. She had been overwrought, clearly, but she had also been deeply upset; her tears were decidedly not merely the product of a long, awful day composed of little things gone awry.

Severus frowned as he realised she had drifted into his thoughts again, and attempted to focus on the phosphorous foxglove he was currently tending to. He really, _devoutly_ hoped she wouldn't asininely decide that her heart's desire was Ronald Weasley, thereby forcing him to play matchmaker. His frown became a sneer, and he fancied to himself that the foxglove wilted a bit from it.

No doubt he would be doing the poor flowers no favours remaining out here—he really ought to go in and bathe for the day before his temper turned utterly sour and he took it out on the outdoor garden. Picking up the silvered trowel he had been using, Severus leveraged himself to his feet with a low grunt, and turned, only to be brought up short by the very object of his thoughts almost trotting down the path toward him.

The image was inexplicably stunning; she looked rather like he might have imagined a wood fae. Her long, curling hair was still damp from her morning ablutions, the extra weight taming it into actual curls rather than the thick, bushy mass it usually appeared to be. She wore a dress that draped and floated about her form—it was far more appealing than the severe Muggle style she had appeared in, the night before.

Not that the pencil skirt did not have its appeal; when she had bent over in the tightly fitted skirt to retrieve her shoes, he had been treated to a surprisingly spectacular view. She had always seemed so trim; the sudden realization that Hermione Granger had a rather delectable arse had definitely been noteworthy. She had caught him looking of course, but still uncertain, and _that_ had led to her humorously landing on said arse. It was an effort not to smile at the memory.

The thought suddenly made him take heed that _her_ smile was utterly beguiling. It was wide and open, her eyes shining with undisguised and uninhibited delight. Severus actually found himself glancing about to see who that expression might actually be aimed at, which was ridiculous of course, since he was currently standing in a corner. He felt a slight pang of disappointment. Clearly the girl had gone mad; it was a terrible shame—honestly a waste.

"Severus!" She called, waving a hand at him as if he had somehow missed the sight of her nearly flying across the grounds to him. She drew up to a halt directly in front of him, her cheeks flushed prettily and her breath coming in short pants from her exertion. His stomach tightened in response and he shied away from the implication. "I'm so glad to see you!" she enthused.

_Mad…_, his mind confirmed mournfully. _Such a waste…_

"I mean, of course I would have seen you at breakfast, obviously, but I might have gone mad thinking about it in the meantime…"

_Obviously._

"…perfect solution, and…are you quite alright, Severus?"

Severus blinked, realising that he had missed the majority of her babbling, and in an effort to recover, snipped at her, "Hermione Granger, I have seen first years with better diction and decorum. You used to be one of them; do slow down a bit, before you choke on your own tongue, and repeat yourself."

She ducked her head a bit, her smile wilting a little in embarrassment. He absolutely did _not_ find that disappointing. He had done very well without anyone smiling at him for years now. After a moment, her eyes met his again, a smile curling her lips and her voice vibrating in controlled excitement. "I believe I have found a solution to our problem," she said.

"Overnight?" Severus felt his brows lift incredulously.

Hermione's cheeks coloured again, but she held his gaze steadily, her expression deadly serious. "There is nothing I can think of in this world that I could ever want more than this. I've been held back, limited and defined because of them; I want that fixed. I want them _gone."_

A chill snaked down his spine, despite the steadily growing warmth of the rising July sun. Was she asking him to murder someone? Disappointment shot through him. He had thought more of her than this; she had always seemed so pure, above the sort of hatred that makes one person willing to see to the cold blooded death of another. He had believed she thought more of _him_ than this. He supposed he should not have been surprised.

_I suppose it's easier to not feel guilty about murder, if the person you ask already has blood on his hands._ The thought felt terribly bitter. At some point in the last year, he'd foolishly allowed himself to believe that he might actually get to live in relative peace, and now in exchange for a life debt, he was being asked to shackle himself with more guilt. "Who?" The question was perfunctory and cold.

Her eyes took on a haunted cast, and the shadows under them suddenly seemed deeper to him. "Greyback, Bellatrix, Malfoy Manor…all of it."

Severus frowned, not understanding. Both the werewolf and Bellatrix Lestrange had died over a year ago—and she did not expect him to destroy Malfoy Manor in some way, did she? Why would she feel that was essential to her life, to her well-being? He knew better than most the impact childhood enmity could have on one's life, but she hadn't thought that things had escalated between her and Draco so far. She had nearly grinned so genuinely in excitement over the prospect, as well. Circe, maybe the girl really _had_ gone mad. War had done worse to people in the past. "Hermione," he began, carefully.

"I want you to _Obliviate_ me," she interrupted. "Harry, Ron and I were held there, a bit, before the end." She wrapped her arms around herself in what appeared to be a subconscious gesture, and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Bad things happened there, things I want to forget." Her eyes flew to his and she entreated, "Things I _need_ to forget. I won't ever be able to move on if I don't; I'll never be able to heal, to fall in love, to just…_enjoy_ sex, if you don't. I'm only twenty—I don't want to be broken for the next hundred and fifty years! You wanted to know what I want more than anything else in the world—well I want to forget!"

_Ahhhhh, shite._ He had known that rape was a regularly employed demoralization and fear tactic for many of the Death Eaters—many of them had enjoyed the feeling of power it had given them. He hadn't realised that she had been a victim of it, and Fenrir Greyback had been more enthusiastic and brutal than most. It was not any wonder, really, that the girl was having trouble enjoying herself sexually, that she was desperate to forget, particularly if she had been a virgin at the time. Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter aside, Severus had a sneaking suspicion she had been.

Severus felt himself sigh, heavily, and gestured to one of the many benches that were littered throughout the castle grounds. Her eyes shuttered as she read his intent to refuse her request. For a moment he thought she would burst into tears again and run, but to her credit, she stiffly walked to the bench and sat, all traces of her smile gone.

"There is a reason memory charms are illegal, Hermione," he said quietly. "It's not simply a matter of tampering with the essence of who a person is—though that is bad enough. They are incredibly dangerous. There is no way to control Obliviation; if you try to just erase single memories, little thoughts, it starts to unravel the whole mind—there's nothing left in just a few short hours; and that is if the caster is incredibly good at Obliviation. You recall Lockhart, of your second year, I presume? It would be as good as murdering you, Hermione. I can't do that."

"But…we use memory charms all the time—the Ministry has an entire security class for it!" Her wide, pleading eyes actually glistened, and Severus once again felt disappointed that he wouldn't be able to tell her what she wanted to hear.

"We _Obliviate_ and charm the memories of _Muggles._ In witches or wizards, however, a false memory charm—like the one used on your parents—will unravel, and the mind will heal and grow the correct set of memories back over time. Obliviation, on the other hand, will continue along the wizard or witch's thoughts and take everything there is. By the time a simple Obliviation is finished on a magic user, they often have to re-learn how to talk and wipe their own arse. That is _not_ something I would ever be willing to do to you. You have one of the finest minds Hogwarts has seen in over a decade. I'll not be party to destroying it."

Hermione lowered her head, her dark, still-damp curls hiding her features, and her shoulders shook slightly as she began to cry. Severus reached out a hand to awkwardly place it on her back, and then let it drop again to the back of the bench. He might have been head of Slytherin House for twelve years, but he didn't do hugs or comforting pats, and people didn't accept them when he did.

Instead he shifted his gaze back to the far curtain wall of the castle. The sun had finally managed to clear the mountains beyond entirely and glistened on the edge of a thousand tiny dewdrops of the lawn beyond the garden but before the wall itself. The summer-blooming flowers that had been planted alongside the walkways were vibrant looking; the day was clearly going to be one of those few, gorgeously picturesque ones that made the rest of the year in the Scottish mountains bearable.

After several minutes of quiet weeping, during which Severus couldn't seem to make himself merely get up and abandon her, she sniffled a little, and lifted her head again, her eyes newly-swollen and red.

"What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to move on with things with it always in the way?"

Severus felt his lungs freeze for a moment. He was no therapist; he was quite possibly the worst person in the world to ask for this sort of advice in the entire world. "Time, I believe, is the only thing that can help. It takes time to heal from trauma, particularly something like rape—"

"Iwasn'traped." She cut him off in a breathless rush, grimaced a little, and then continued, "I wasn't. I was, I mean, he tried. He wanted to. They ripped my clothes and tortured me. I was sliced up a bit and subjected to the Cruciatus. He ground himself into me and held me down, threatened me, but he never…it didn't get that far. You must think I'm especially pathetic, now, don't you? It wasn't even really as awful as some women had done to them, and I let it control me like this. I just can't seem to help it! I keep flashing back to it every time." She shivered.

He considered her for a moment. "Just because it could have been worse, does not mean it was not still awful. Sexual assault is nothing that can be merely brushed off. If you don't mind me asking," he asked, carefully, "does it affect everything? Every time you are touched, every time you have kissed? Have you gotten that far at all?"

Hermione took a deep, shaky breath. "You are the last person I ever expected to discuss this with."

Severus felt himself recoil mentally. _Of course._ Of course she wouldn't want to speak of it—especially not to a man—especially not to _him._ He was the foreboding, brooding, nasty git of the dungeons. Hadn't he _just_ speculated to himself that he was not the comforting sort? He was making a bloody fool of himself, and he should just take his leave and quit, before he ended up making it unbearable to ever look at her again. He still had that fucking life debt to deal with someday, after all. He had halfway stood, a stiff farewell on his lips, when she spoke again.

"At first, yes. I couldn't touch Ron, I could hardly look at him; I was so ashamed. It got better, though, easier. I trusted him, and the little things didn't hurt: holding hands, a bit of kissing. I even thought I mightn't have any trouble at all. Now, a year later, I just _can't._Every time he gets on top of me I flashback and it's like it's happening all over again. I just _panic._ As soon as I feel his weight I trigger and start fighting. When I finally did, you know, have sex," she stumbled over it and blushed uncomfortably, "it just _hurt."_

Severus whipped his head around to stare at her with a hard expression. "He had sex with you while you were fighting him?" he asked sharply.

"What? No!" Hermione's eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. "No, I wouldn't have let him get away with that. It was just _entirely_ unpleasant."

Severus looked at her impassively and said, with a warning question, "I thought you had said you immediately trigger and flashback when sex is attempted?"

"We didn't do it the usual way. That once, he uh, like animals, you know, so he wasn't really _on_ me, and I had my wand the whole time, and it was horridly painful, but it didn't feel like before, being pinned down, you know?"

Severus was still stuck on the first sentence. "You didn't do it the _usual_ way."

The girl blushed crimson. "I know, it's not right, and he didn't like it much, I know, but I couldn't seem to do it the right way, and he said he supposed it was better than nothing."

Severus stared, unable to help himself. "The _right_ way?"

"Are you _really_ going to make me explain?" Her eyes were pleading with his again. "I know you're an intelligent man, Severus Snape. Please don't make me actually say it."

"You're telling me that your boyfriend has never thought to let you control the pace, to be on top of him? Furthermore, you've been informed that it was unusual and wrong to do it anyway but his way, but that he _supposed_ he could accept sex—a major step for you—if you were on your hands and knees and he was still in complete control?"

Hermione grimaced. "It sounds daft when you say it like that—but he really refuses to even try anything else, and it was such a terrible experience, that I would really rather not do it that way again."

_Idiotic, ridiculous, fucking_ imbecilic _moron!_ Severus felt the sudden urge to track down the Weasley boy and smack him upside the head. Possibly with Hermione's beloved copy of _Hogwarts, A History._ "You were a virgin?" he grated out instead.

"Professor—Severus!" she spluttered, clearly uncomfortable.

Severus made an impatient gesture with his hand, slicing the air abruptly. "Bear with me, I may have a solution for you yet. Just answer the question. Think of it as a clinical one, not a personal one."

"Rather hard not to take something like that personally," she muttered, blushing furiously.

Severus arched an eyebrow. "That's a 'yes,' then."

"I never said that!"

He couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes a little and sneering. "You didn't have to. It's written all over your face."

She ducked her head again, her cheeks still stained.

Severus let out an aggravated sigh, and said, "Very few women, if any, I am given to understand, find their first time a pleasurable experience. I don't imagine that being pressured, emotionally stressed, mentally bullied and put in an uncomfortable position would help that process at all."

Her hands, he noted, were clasped very firmly in her lap, her knuckles white from her grip on herself. "I don't think you're ruined forever, Miss Granger," he told her quietly, falling back into the habit of addressing her formally. "I think you had a terrible experience, followed by a terrible boyfriend. I would recommend that you not give up; most men are entirely more flexible with the positions they prefer, and infinitely more patient with their lovers than Weasley," he sneered the name. "When you are ready to get past this, try again with someone who will listen to you, a person whom you trust to take things at the pace that you need; to help you find what you _like_, instead of merely telling you what it _should_ be. You're a strong enough person to beat this.

"But finding that kind of bond with someone might take _years."_

Severus' gave her a wry look. "He doesn't have to be the love of your life; he just has to be slightly less of an idiot than Weasley. I assure you, it will not be that hard. I'm sure the simple request would be enough for most."

"You mean, just, _ask_ someone?" She was aghast. "I can't just ask someone to be my sex-therapist!"

Her choice of words, paired with that expression, very nearly made him smile. He had not thought of it in so many words, but he supposed that yes, that was the sort of thing he'd had in mind. Feeling slightly pleased that she at least wasn't sniffling anymore, and enjoying the way he was shocking her just a bit, he responded casually, "Why not? You are a young, intelligent heroine of the war who is not unattractive. I'm sure there would be plenty of men interested in, ah, being your 'sex therapist.'"

If he were really lucky, he might be able to actually line-up said man, and be able to take credit for the whole thing, thus releasing him from his vow. Mentally he began to run down a list of young men he had taught over the years who would not balls it up that she might find attractive. He very nearly missed her next query. When it did register, his brain shut down entirely for quite possibly the first time in his life—probably because all of the oxygen had seized in his lungs.

"Whhat?" he wheezed.

"I said, 'are you?'" Her expression was cool, almost defiant, but the way her fingers still gripped each other belied the nervousness behind her question.

_"Miss Granger!"_ His entire being bristled with indignation. There was really no call for her to ask him something like that! He knew he wasn't the comforting, wishy-washy sort, but bugger it, he'd been _trying!_

"Hermione, remember? We're using first names, now, you said."

"That is…ludicrous, utter rot. Entirely inappropriate. I could be your _father."_

Hermione shrank in on herself slightly, and said in a very small voice, "So it's because I'm too young? I'm twenty, you know, three years and change past adulthood in the Wizarding world. The age difference is hardly anything compared to some, and you said that it didn't have to be about love or…or anything. Just trust, and I, well I trust you."

The girl had really, truly gone stark raving mad. Round the bend. Loony. "Absolutely not," he ground out.

She seemed to wilt a little again. "So it is because I'm me. Hermione. I think it is going to be rather harder than you think to find someone who I'll be able to trust that way, and actually wants _me."_ She saw his lifted eyebrows and hastily added, apparently genuinely, "Oh, it's quite alright. I know exactly what I am. I've been told multiple times. Skinny, bossy, know-it-all with horrid hair and ugly scars, and _frigid."_

Her certainty of her lack of appeal, the absence of the self-confidence that had always been inherent in so many other areas of her life was both bewildering and frustrating. "Hermione Granger," he thundered, "you have absolutely nothing to fear in regards to your appeal. Nothing. Stop being such a twit and looking for compliments. You're above that."

Her eyes flashed, and for a moment a hint of the old defiance he was more accustomed to seeing in her surfaced. "I wasn't—!" She took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself, and gave him an impassive look. "I would be indebted, very much so."

_Fuck._ Her offer dangled between them; the promise of both of their freedoms. The idea was absurd; she was his student only two years ago, and she was _Hermione-Bloody-Fucking-Granger._ Severus felt his throat tighten a bit. It didn't matter, though, did it. She held his Life Debt—he could feel it in the back of his skull even now. She could demand it if she chose. Stiffly, he clarified, "Are you ordering me discharge my debt this way?"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror and she shook her head furiously. "No! No, never. I would _never_ take the choice away from you. It would be no different than...no." Hermione drew herself back and her expression blanked again, concealing her thoughts. "It was a request to be considered, that is all."

"Ah. Respectfully then, I will decline," he answered back, equally formally, and then, irritably, "Why would you chose me anyway? Some sort of misguided form of pity because I owe you a life debt and you want to save me from it?"

She was back to looking at her clasped hands again, her long hair shielding her face. "You've been honest, and very kind these last few hours. I would trust you not to lie to me about it, or to take advantage of me."

It was an effort to not actually snort at that. He cast a sardonic look askance at her, which of course she missed. She could not have possibly missed his tone, however when he inquired, "You have arbitrarily decided to trust that _I_ of all people would not take advantage of you?"

Her head lifted and she responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Well, yes, of course. You can be terribly rude, but you do have a sense of honour. A person would have to be blind not to see that. Not to mention taking advantage of me like this would hardly help your situation; it's because you owe me a Life Debt that I trust you to have my best interests in mind. It was a silly idea, however, you've made it clear you are uninterested. I'll not mention it again."

Severus nodded abruptly, still a bit stunned from the whole situation and stood. "Quite." He didn't attend breakfast in the Great Hall that day, or any other meal for that matter. When he discreetly inquired of her whereabouts from a house elf later that afternoon, he was informed she had left the castle.

* * *

"You told her _no?"_ The look on Lucius Malfoy's face was utterly shocked; an expression it didn't bear often. Looking like he was doing it more out of long habit than because he actually wanted any, Severus' old friend lent forward and poured them each a glass of wine, his expression still dumbfounded. "Have you completely lost your mind, Severus? Why in Hades would you do such a thing?"

"She was my student a mere two years ago; in normal circumstances it would have been only one year ago. It would be entirely inappropriate! And tea, please. You know I don't drink." Severus added the last bit irritably. Severus hadn't touched alcohol in years and yet Malfoy always tried to give him it—it was incredibly annoying.

Lucius rolled his eyes uncharacteristically and summoned a house elf, relaying the orders. "Plebeian. Someday I shall cure you of both that idiot notion, as well as your poor manners and worse fashion sense."

"Not bloody likely."

"Did you know Narcissa redecorated this room to 'compliment' you? She always thought your wardrobe went horridly with the furnishings."

"She redecorated a room because she hated my wardrobe?" Severus was incredulous. "That seems a bit of a stretch, even for Narcissa."

"It was her excuse, at any rate. Honestly, the woman just got bored and took it out on the décor on a regular basis; terribly fond of the word 'complimentary,' my late wife."

Severus felt his lips twitch, but kept it in check as he noted the wistful look on his friend's face. "Lucius," he began, but then the other man waved away his words and fixed him with a hard stare.

"Now then. Back to the matter at hand. Severus, the majority of the British Wizarding population under the age of thirty has been a pupil of yours at some point; the girl _has_ graduated. Sure, tongues might wag a bit, but not very loudly. There would likely be more gossip over the fact that there was a woman at all, since you've been allegedly pining for Lily Potter all these years." Lucius Malfoy's wry look said he knew better than to believe it. "Really, Severus, there would only be a fuss if people found out, in any case, and it isn't as if you're marrying the chit."

"But it's Hermione _Granger._ You don't think that's a terrible idea? I hadn't thought you were a particular fan of hers."

Lucius' mouth firmed into a dignified mien. "I would do it myself, if I thought she'd let me near her." At Severus' disbelieving look, the expression became cross and he scolded, "She was injured in my home, Severus, under my hospitality. It is a shameful mark on our honour that I have yet to make recompense. Not to mention my family owes Potter our lives three times over. He has invoked _Ius Familiae;_ any member of my family may repay the debts to any member of his family. Since he formally adopted her as a sibling eight months ago, that includes Miss Granger. So yes, I would jump at the chance in return for marking it off our ledger. As you have decided to turn it down, I likely will make the offer, and so will Draco."

Severus sneered. "Draco is not only her childhood nemesis, but also engaged; she would never accept."

"He'll offer nonetheless." Lucius' tone brooked no argument. He stared at his friend through slitted eyes, and swirled the wine in his glass idly. "What is it that has you running scared, Severus? Do you find her that repulsive? Are you convinced of your inability to _perform?"_

Severus felt himself make a choking noise, and his own sip of tea nearly came out his nose. "No, of course not. She is perfectly adequate and so are my abilities. She is no great beauty, of course, but she is far from hideous. I just have no wish to bed her."

His old friend shook his head in disbelief. "Your last life debt required you to depend on the whims and volatile moods of a despot, to kiss the hem of a madman for months—and then again for years, before finally culminating in murder."

Severus didn't flinch from the reminder. He had long since decided to not apologise for what he had been forced to do, and Lucius knew it. Why then was he bothering? His manners were usually impeccable—at least with those he liked. He gave the other man a steady, cold stare and took another sip of his tea, daring him to keep pushing. To his surprise, the older man laughed.

"Don't glare so, Severus. I am merely trying to understand. After all you were willing to do, willing to put yourself through for the sake of your last incurred Life Debt, I just find it passing strange that you won't bring yourself to teach a young woman to enjoy her own carnality? Not only would it not even be that difficult to do—the girl is far from passionless—but it could barely be described as a hardship. I would be tempted to do it even without my own family's trouble, and maybe gamble a bit on the side. Things have been very dull for me since Narcissa passed, and Hermione Granger would be the perfect foot back into the door of the Ministry."

Severus spluttered, unable to keep up even the pretence of not being utterly shocked. The Order of the Phoenix may have won the war, and Lucius might have gotten out relatively unscathed, but it did not change who he fundamentally was. "You would actually seek her hand, as well?" he finally choked out.

The other man shrugged casually, a smug smile in place, and ticked off on his fingers. "Why not? As a member of Potter's family it would cancel my family's debts entirely; it would put me back into the social circles that are currently important, and I already have a pure-blood son to succeed me, so another heir is not strictly necessary, and if they did…occur, they would not be the firstborn heir." Lucius shrugged, then added, "And even you have to admit that she is intelligent. Good conversation is awfully hard to come by."

Severus blinked and then realised his mouth was slightly ajar. "Why…why not, she's Draco's age! In fact, they spent most of their time in school at each other's throats. You don't think it would be a bit odd at Christmas dinner?"

Lucius lifted a brow. "It will be fine; Draco will adjust, and he will have a new wife to keep him busy—Astoria is fond of drama."

"Yes," Severus answered, still feeling a bit lost, "I remember. She was responsible for a great deal of the mischief in her year and the one immediately above in Slytherin House…not that it could be traced to her." He contemplated a moment. "What of Hermione?"

"What of her?"

Severus eyed his friend; the casual tone Lucius was using was just a touch overdone. For some reason, he seemed to think that he was winning something with this conversation. The question was _what?_ Something so small and slight as the upper hand for the moment? Or a larger game? Was he warning Severus off Hermione Granger, or attempting to push him forward or neither at all? It could be so hard to tell with the other man.

Severus chose his words cautiously. "Hermione Granger is fragile right now, Lucius, more fragile than I would have ever imagined her to ever be. Handle this incorrectly and you could end up breaking her entirely, instead of saving her." He hesitated. "She's not the sort who marries for political reasons, old friend, and she's definitely not the sort who would take kindly to being lied to. Whatever the benefits are to having this union, if you don't decide to do it with everything you have, she is going to make your life living hell."

"Why Severus, are you warning me to be faithful to her or fall in love or some other such silly nonsense?"

Severus felt his cheeks burn, and responded quickly, "Of course not, I'm just pointing out that she's unlikely to accept—"

"Good. You know the idea of anything beyond good sex and affection is laughable." Lucius seemed to study him a moment, then said, as if testing him, "I realise that your oath is making you feel a bit protective, but I really don't see how it's your business if I proceed, Severus. You've made it abundantly clear that you're not planning on helping her—or yourself, for that matter—at all. It's a bit odd to see you taking the stuffy Hufflepuff route, but everyone has their moments." Lucius Malfoy tilted his head a bit and wrinkled his nose. "I suppose."

Severus returned to his suite at Hogwarts shortly after that and began to think. His friend did have a point; he had done far worse things in his life for Life Debts than have sex with a student. She wasn't even really his student any longer. She hadn't been for two full years. She regularly took tea and had lunch with other professors, she had a full time job, and fought in the war as a warrior fully in the trenches.

The memory of her skipping across the grounds to him that morning, her dress floating about her calves, her smile brilliant, her curves soft…Hermione Granger was definitely not a child, and she had specifically asked him. She was well aware of who he was, his age, what he looked like, and she had asked him anyway. She trusted him; even if the trust was only in that he wouldn't want to destroy his own chances of discharging his Life Debt.

Which was another thing; he would be free. He had been offered the possibility of losing the horrible axe hanging over his head by taking a young, attractive, intelligent woman to his bed and showing her pleasure. Something stirred inside him and he realised it was _possible._ It was actually, truly _possible_ to do what Hermione was asking; to just once accept this odd boon that whichever god he almost believed in had decided to grant him.

Mind made up, Severus went to bed and felt hope that his future would be brighter for the first time since his graduation.

He managed to talk himself back out of it the following morning. Then cursing himself for a fool, had settled on accepting her request again by lunchtime. He remained resolved through his meal, planning to visit the bookstore and purchase some helpful materials on sensual massage and aura stimulation. The envisioned the look on Madam Idell's face when he got to the counter of Flourish and Blotts to purchase said books nearly made him change his mind again.

The workers of both F&B and Selena's Books in Hogsmeade all knew him too well to make the experience bearable; he would have to go elsewhere. He could visit a Muggle shop, but the books would then not contain the magical aspects of what he wanted to know. He would likely have to go to the Wizarding bookstore in Glasgow, with which he was much less familiar.

By tea-time, his anxiety over being naked in front of Hermione Granger, much less having sex with her, had convinced him that he had made the correct decision after all in telling her no. This lasted a full two hours before the Life Debt gnawed at the back of his mind and the memory of Lucius' smug smile, when he mentioned marrying her, disposing of his life own Debts and using her to gain entrance back into high society, intruded.

He was not especially fond of Hermione Granger, but she didn't deserve that sort of treatment. She was not a Slytherin pure-bred to take it as the compliment that Lucius no doubt thought of it as; she would no doubt feel ill-used in the extreme by such manipulation. Not to mention that provided he could get past his own uneasiness, sex with a lusciously-arsed witch half his age could hardly be considered troublesome.

Severus resolved to go to her home the next day and take her up on her request, and then made a trip to the Glasgow Wizarding bookshop.

* * *

It was rather appallingly easy to get her address. Minerva had seen him returning to the castle just before supper with his bag of purchases rather glaringly printed with "Rolled Up and Bound," and had grinned.

"It's a bookshop," he had answered, scowling. "According to them, it's 'Glasgow's largest destination for all your scroll and book needs.'"

The insufferable woman's grin didn't falter in the slightest. "Not one of your usual haunts. What made you decide on an impromptu shopping trip to a store that doesn't know better to cater to your every whim at this hour? "

Severus sneered with as much dignity as one could whilst clutching a bag emblazoned with "Rolled Up and Bound," and informed her, "Hermione Granger and I discussed several books the other evening whist you were out, and Flourish and Blots did not have them in. I plan to lend them to her for a bit."

"She couldn't get them for herself?" The elderly woman's smile was just a bit too knowing.

"It's long past time I owned them, anyway. Would you mind sharing her address so that I might have them delivered?" A brow was cocked, her smug smile still in place, but she had written it down for him. It wasn't until he had made it safely back into his rooms that he realised the bright red title of one of his purchases, _Erotic Massage to Please Your Witch_ was clearly visible through the thin paper of the white bag. Honestly, fulfilling this Life Debt might just kill him yet.

He had spent the next several hours studying the three books he had bought; he might be quite a bit more sexually active since the press had romanticized him, but he had not really paid a whole lot of attention to sexual techniques and arousal methods—something he would need in his current situation.

It was raining when he arrived outside her little house in London, forcing him to shield himself to keep from getting utterly drenched. Her Floo had been disconnected and her home had been heavily warded to provide the necessary amount of privacy for a war heroine, and Severus doubted he would have located it without Minerva's help. He supposed he could have—and should have—owled her first, but the possibility of being told to bugger off by an embarrassed or disgruntled Hermione had made him opt to just show up. Much as she had to _his_ home, he justified to himself. He was reasonably sure she would be home, as it was Sunday, but he still held his breath a bit after rapping his knuckles smartly on the front door.

To his surprise, she swung it open with an angry look, which evaporated into shock at seeing him there. She stared, her mouth open, hand slack on the door, her wand loosely clutched in her other hand for several long moments. Finally, feeling a little awkward, he cleared his throat and growled, "Well, are you going to continue to make me stand in the rain?"

Hermione shook her head as if suddenly realising what was going on, and stepped out of the way, leaving the doorway open for him to enter. He swept through, stifling the nerves trying to tell him to leave before he got himself into something over his head.

"Tea?" she offered, still looking shocked.

"Please," he responded, then, "do you always answer the door as if you are going to hex someone?"

She shrugged a little sheepishly. "I thought you were Ron. He sent me a note yesterday graciously forgiving me for my hang ups and offering to take me back."

Severus felt his lip curl. "This is from the idiot who has informed you that the only correct way to engage in sexual intercourse is one way that is guaranteed to terrify you?"

Hermione gave a mirthless laugh. "Are you going to hold it over me for the rest of my life?"

Severus felt his brows knit. "No. I had actually come to see if my…help was something you were still interested in."

Her eyes shot to his, wide and brown and—dare he believe?—hopeful. "I—yes. Yes. I would be interested, if you were, ah, so inclined," she finally stammered out. They stared at each other for long moments, both slightly disbelieving what they had both just agreed to.

The teakettle whistled obnoxiously from the kitchen, startling both of them out of the eerie spell they had found themselves in, each unwilling to look away in case it was all some sort of joke. Hermione whirled to the kitchen to abruptly to shut off the kettle and pour tea, and Severus settled uneasily into one of her sitting room chairs.

"Are you certain?" he found himself asking when she returned and nearly cursed himself. Once he had started however, he felt compelled to continue. "You must realise exactly what you are asking of whom. I am not what young women generally consider handsome and this will require a level of interest on your part. I assure you I am not hiding the body of a Greco-Roman god under my robes. I am near forty, pale, scarred, and have greasy hair." He described himself brutally. "You had best be very certain that you will not find me physically repulsive before we continue down this path."

Her eyes snapped to his and colour tinged her cheeks. To his surprise, she mumbled, "I do not think it will be a problem for me." She seemed to hesitate, and then her chin lifted boldly. "Attractive does not mean 'pretty,' you know. One can be utterly compelling and beguiling without being classically lovely." Her arms wrapped defensively around herself as if in reassurance and she added, "You have the most mesmerizing eyes I have ever known. Are you…are you sure you are able to do this with _me?"_

His eyes? Daft girl was mad after all. _Such a waste._ He looked at her vulnerable open features, so obviously hoping that _he_ of all people would find _her_ attractive. He would call St. Mungo's later, he decided. _After._

Slowly, he stood. "Come here, Hermione, and find out."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you once again for reading! Please review; things are about to really heat up... :-)_


	3. Part Three

**Summary: **When Hermione decides she can no longer live with the mental scarring wrought by her vicious assault at Malfoy Manor, she enlists the aid of her former Potions professor in exchange for holding his life debt fulfilled... a very lemony tale written for the SSHG Prompt Fest 2013based on a prompt by Shiv5468. It is complete in six parts.

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy

**Warnings:** This story is Alternate Universe (AU) and is rated MA. It is _not _suitable for children under eighteen. It contains strong language, violence, lemons (graphic depiction of sex), light bondage, and a ménage a trois involving Malfoy Sr.

**Thank You:** To the usual suspects driven mad in my quest to complete this in two months, Jenidralph, ThornedHuntress, and Nathaniel Cardeu. A warm and wonderful heartfelt thank-you to Shiv5468 for giving me an awesome prompt to play with, and the incomparable SusanMarieR, who has once again made the feeling of the story come to life in the beautiful banner. A special thank you also to Songquake for helping me with some Latin, and Savva, for letting me pick her brain about Eastern European names and spellings.

**The Original Prompt: **Hermione can't have sex in the missionary position because it gives her flashbacks to Malfoy Manor. Ron just can't let a women be on top. Enter Severus, a man keen to pay back his life debt to Hermione for saving her... (and Lucius, a man looking for forgivenes, if you'd like to add him)

* * *

**GETTING PAST BROKEN  
****By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Part Three:**

She fancied that his eyes were midnight pools she might drown in, hypnotizing and just the slightest bit challenging. Then she called herself a fool for sounding like a romance novel when this was anything but. She was rather hoping that she wouldn't look back at this whole thing and grimace at the sordidness of it all—was she being hopelessly naïve and idiotic to believe that, of all the men she knew, this one would be the most likely to help her past her problem? She couldn't imagine asking anyone else. Just the thought of going through the excruciating process of explaining and then asking say Seamus or Dean was horrifying.

Severus Snape was almost obsessive-compulsively meticulous in everything he did; no stir of a potion, button on his frockcoat or misplaced comma in an essay was above his attention. If a man like that was unable to make her enjoy sex, who possibly could? Despite his misgivings about their age difference, Hermione was honestly glad. He was more patient, subtle and had nearly as much at stake as she; he wouldn't be bumbling or completely self-absorbed the way someone else would.

Still…her heart skipped a beat in trepidation as he rose, his familiar, dramatic teaching robes reminding her in no uncertain terms of her status as his student just two years earlier. She _knew_ he was not that much taller than she, really, average height for a man, but he always seemed to loom in those robes. Particularly, she mused, when he stood as he was currently doing, and the Cuban heels of his dragon hide boots aided the effort.

"Come here, Hermione, and find out."

Feeling almost under compulsion, Hermione set down the mugs of tea in her hands and approached him slowly. "What…like this? Now?" Her voice cracked slightly, and she had to remind herself that this is what she had _wanted._ She had just told him she had found him attractive, and he certainly had been two days earlier, when she espied him in the garden. Now however, standing in front of her in his full, buttoned-up austere state, she couldn't help but feel horribly nervous.

His hands rose slowly and cradled each side of her face, tilting it up slightly. "Do you really want to do this? Truly? I'll not be offended if you change your mind, Hermione." His voice was a low, velvety rumble, and it seemed to ripple through her in a way that Ron's never had. His face was so serious; any emotions he might feel carefully concealed behind impassivity. She might have worried that he was utterly indifferent and cold to her, if he had not belied his concern already in the sheer gentleness of his hands.

Hermione swallowed, suddenly very sure, despite her nerves. She attempted to nod, but his palms still cupping her face restricted the movement to the barest of tilts in the affirmative.

"For my own peace of mind, Hermione, I would like you to say it out loud," he told her—his voice was so quiet it was nearly a whisper, his breath flitting across her face and making her shiver slightly in response. It was so very odd that such a small thing could impact her whole body.

"Yes," she whispered back, bridging the gap between them. "I want you to get me past broken, Severus. Show me how to stop being afraid of this." She thought he would kiss her then—expected it even—but instead he simply studied her for a moment longer, as if gauging her sincerity, and then dropped his hands back to his sides, breaking the contact.

"Go take a bath, and put on whatever it is you sleep in."

Hermione blinked, startled. "What?"

"You heard me. I want you to go take a relaxing bath, and then put on whatever it is you usually sleep in."

"It's almost one in the afternoon, Severus. Why in the world do you want me to take another bath and put nightwear on?"

A flicker of impatience lit his eyes, and he snapped, "I thought you were going to trust me?"

Hermione jutted her chin at him. "Trusting you doesn't mean I'm just going to blindly do whatever you say, Severus! I'm not one your Potions students any longer," she snapped back. "Explain what you want, and why, and I'm far more likely to cooperate than if you just order me about!"

His eyes widened and then lit again with the same little hint of amusement she had seen a couple days previously. "I want you to take another bath and then put on your night clothes, because you are currently vibrating with tension, and not the kind that we're looking for. When you come back out, I want you to be clothed in the most comfortable thing you own, which is, presumably, what you would sleep in," he arched a brow. "Unless you sleep naked?"

"No!" Hermione shook her head. "Uh, it's just an oversized shirt, honestly, not sexy at all. Are you sure…?"

To her surprise, he actually smiled, his lips tipping up slightly at the corners, and a hand reached out and brushed a thumb against her cheek so lightly she almost couldn't feel it. "Go do it, Hermione, be relaxed, and be comfortable. When you come back, we are going to sit and talk."

"That's all? We're just going to talk?" she asked, confused.

"To start. There are things to discuss; rules that need to be put into place. Talking them out so that we have boundaries has to happen before we progress any further. Furthermore, neither of us is entirely comfortable with the other right now. I will be attempting to remedy that _before_ we continue. Trust me." His gaze was unwavering.

Hermione rather thought that being freshly bathed and wearing nothing but the oversized shirt and knickers that she slept in would make her feel more vulnerable and uncomfortable, not the other way around. She wavered, trying to decide what to do.

"Hermione," he said firmly, "You are not alone in this, I promise. Trust me."

Hermione found herself nodding uneasily, and heading for the bathroom. She ran the water as hot as she could stand and lowered herself into the tub with a slight hiss. After a few moments she found that she was biting her lip, and not relaxing at all. Not sure what else to do, Hermione grabbed her loufa and soap and began to wash herself, despite having done so only that morning. Rinsing off, she looked at her legs and frowned. The stubble there told her she should probably charm her legs smooth again, and probably re-groom her bikini line as well, especially if she was going to be naked in front of him.

The realization suddenly dawned on her in full force. A man was going to be seeing her naked; a man who was _not_ Ronald Weasley. _Severus Snape_ was going to be seeing her naked. Startled into sudden purpose, Hermione was suddenly enormously glad he insisted on her taking a bath and changing. It gave her time to fix what she hadn't thought would need fixing. Grateful she had left the bottle of Madame Cheveux's Magical Depilatory on rim of the tub the last time she had used it, Hermione set to work.

When she emerged from the bathroom, it was nearly forty-five minutes later. She was freshly washed, exfoliated, hair-free in the places she should be, her teeth scrubbed and feeling much better about the prospect of being seen naked. There wasn't much she could do with her hair without a whole lot more time and Sleekeazy, she thought critically, eyeing the tangled mess of curls in the mirror. Rubbing just a bit on her fingers, she finger combed the curls, attempting to make them look a little less…robust, before finally giving up, leaving them only marginally better.

Towel wrapped firmly about her, she crept back into her bedroom, relieved that he was apparently still in the other room, out of eyeshot. She eyed the short-sleeved men's button-down she typically wore to bed, feeling nervous. It was an unattractive sort of puce colour with a small tear in one shoulder, but it was so worn and comfortable after years of owning it that she hadn't been able to bear throwing it out.

Without her bra on she would be terribly vulnerable in it—_why_ hadn't she lied and told him she wore sweats to bed? _He wouldn't have believed you, anyway,_ the voice inside her head grumbled. Hermione tugged the shirt over her head through the already enlarged neckline, instead of unbuttoning it all the way, and then buttoned one of the buttons she usually didn't bother with, wincing a little as her damp hair soaked through the back of the shirt.

She dug through her underwear drawer, looking for the most "company-worthy" pair of knickers she could find, that she could also pass off as "sleeping-worthy", and finally settled on a bright blue pair trimmed with a little silver bow.

Feeling nervous and _very_ half dressed, Hermione padded back out into the sitting room barefoot, praying her face wasn't as red as she felt. What she saw stopped her short, her jaw slackening slightly. He had removed his boots and they now stood neatly by the couch. His belt was coiled around them in a line of braided leather. Next to his boots and belt, folded in a neat pile, were his robes, frockcoat, and the white shirt she had seen him stripped down to in the garden. The man himself sat quietly on the couch he had been sitting on when she had left, still with his trousers on, but bare-chested. Their eyes met, and she thought she saw a flicker of answering uneasiness in his.

"You see?" he said quietly. "You're not going to be alone in this." He carefully set a previously unnoticed book aside, onto a nearby table, and straightened marginally, silently giving her permission to look and assess as she liked.

Almost against her will her eyes dropped back to his chest and studied him. He was lean and wiry rather than bulky, like Ron had developed into; even so, his muscles seemed to sit more firmly on his arms and shoulders, the definition in his abdominals less obnoxious somehow. He had a liberal dusting of inky-black chest hair that all but disappeared across his stomach, and then picked up again in a thin trail from his navel to beneath the line of his trousers.

Ron was completely hairless on his chest, and now Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he, too, used Madame Cheveux's Magical Depilatory. The contrast between his freckled, hairless skin with overly prominent muscle and Severus' rangier build was startling, and she found herself wondering what it felt like in comparison. Her eyes lifted back to his and found him staring back at her, waiting.

He held up a hand and beckoned her closer. "Come here, Hermione. Come sit with me and we'll just get used to being next to each other, touching each other, and we can also get some rules straightened out."

Hermione slowly walked forward until she was directly in front of him, and took his hand, feeling her breath hitch as the heat of it wrapped around hers. His rich, low voice hummed through her awareness, explaining softly, almost hypnotically as he tugged her into his lap. "I'm going to put my arms around you; just firmly enough to keep you steady, but loosely enough so that, if you show the slightest inclination of leaving, you will be able to get up easily." His voice didn't waver as he suited actions to words, and snuggled her into him.

His show of caution and clear respect for her comfort was relieving and slightly endearing; it made her that much more certain she had chosen wisely in this mad endeavour. She gave him a grateful look and tucked her head on his shoulder, concentrating on the feeling of him against her. He was warm, his heat seeping through the thin material of her shirt, slowly relaxing her._This is okay,_ she decided. _Even though it's Snape. Maybe_ because _it's Snape. Either way, I think this is going to be very okay, after all._

Feeling curious, and just a little daring, she ran a hand slowly over the part of his chest she was currently not laying against, exploring the unknown texture of his chest hair, his heavier, if leaner muscle, and catching the pad of her finger lightly across his far nipple. He let her explore patiently, his breath pausing only slightly when she ran her fingertips over certain areas. She traced several small and silvered scars—clearly old and long since healed, glancing up at him under her lashes to see if he minded. His gaze caught hers, and the low, simmering heat she saw there told her as clearly as words that he didn't. His free hand ran up and down her back in slow, steady strokes, soothing, rather than exciting.

_This is actually rather heavenly,_ she thought dreamily, and continued to run her fingers over his muscle again. She was almost loath to ask, but he had mentioned rules, and that probably meant he had some sort of restrictions of his own, like Ron. Thank goodness he had the decency to be upfront about them, at least, instead of just getting upset when she unknowingly over-stepped. She sighed. "You mentioned rules."

His hand stilled on her back a moment, and then continued, along with his voice. She was delighted to find that she could feel it rumble through his chest, and had to stop herself from burrowing into him further. "Yes. I was thinking of using stoplight colours; it's an easy thing to remember and use. I'm told it's actually fairly common among those who enjoy a…rougher sort of play."

"Stoplight colours?" Hermione lifted her head and looked at him, confused, "Are you planning on being rough?"

"No, no, I think that would be the last thing you would need. I still think it is a good idea for you to use safe words, considering the situation. If you're uncomfortable with something, and you want to slow down, maybe even stop and discuss it, but not dismiss it entirely, you say 'yellow,'"

"Ah, I see. And if I want to stop all together, 'red.'"

"Exactly." His fingertips skated up her back again, this time continuing to trace her spine to the back of her neck, and knead a little. Hermione tipped her head forward and drew her hair over one shoulder to give him better access, groaning softly. "For instance, you don't seem to have a problem at all with me doing this—?" His breath whispered over the sensitive area just under her ear, sending a little shudder down her spine.

"No…none at all, green light there," she mumbled. He chuckled almost under his breath, and continued rubbing the base of her neck, running his thumb up to just behind her ear. She hardly even noticed when he used the motion tilt her head away from him; she was so immersed in the rather fantastic way he was making her neck feel. When he nuzzled the now-exposed line of her throat and kissed the tender area where it met her shoulder, she actually groaned aloud.

He continued dropping little, gentle kisses over her neck and shoulder, now supporting her head with his left hand, teasing her skin lightly with the edge of his teeth. The sensation seemed to shoot directly to the tip of the adjacent breast, stiffening the nipple into a taut, almost painful point under her shirt. Hermione pulled her breath in with a sharp gasp, and almost without realising she was doing it, angled herself into him more, attempting to rub the tip of it against his own chest.

His right hand had been resting comfortably high on her left hip, supporting her in his lap. Now it played and teased with the hem of the button-down shirt, his fingertips flirting with her bare thigh and stroking the skin softly. The combination of this and his nibbling, sucking kisses on the tendons in her throat were intoxicating. Her thoughts were unwinding in long, curling sensations of tingling pleasure; Ron had never been able to elicit this reaction so quickly from her, especially from so little.

Her response probably should have concerned her; she was not in love with Severus Snape after all, and wasn't she supposed to be in love with Ron? Her mental apprehension, however, was drowned in the absolutely delicious feelings he was creating within her. Hermione tilted her head upright again, and pressed her own mouth to his in a hot, seeking kiss of her own.

He seemed startled at first, almost breaking the kiss as his head jerked minutely, but then settled into it with her, his tongue stroking alongside hers sensually. His kiss was an altogether different thing from what she had experienced before. His mouth was firm and pliable, his lips surprisingly soft. Unlike Ron, he didn't kiss with a sloppy, roaming technique that left her feeling like half her face was being swallowed and slobbered on; nor did he have the authoritative confidence that Viktor Krum had employed.

Kissing him, she fancied, was rather like what kissing midnight would be like: dark, smooth and richly mysterious. Hermione decided that she didn't care if that sounded like a horrible romance novel any longer. His mouth seemed almost to play with hers—his tongue boldly pursuing only to tactically retreat, drawing hers into his mouth. His fingers wrapped in her hair, his other hand stroking her thigh under the hem of her shirt, teasing the insides just far enough that she couldn't help but feel like they were both being deliciously naughty.

His lips parted from hers on a deep breath, as if he was trying to catch it, and both of them opened their eyes again to stare at each other, inches apart. Their gazes remained locked for several seconds, before he cleared his throat.

"Rules. We were discussing the rules, and boundaries."

"I think I got the hang of it. Green light." She saw his eyes light with humour as she reached for him again, but he held her off, tilting his head slightly.

"Hermione," he chided, "this is serious. I would like to know ahead of time, if possible, what you know makes you trigger into flashbacks. I have no wish to confront that issue at all until you are comfortable with everything else, do you understand? I don't want to even _approach_ yellow if I can help it."

"I was very comfortable with you kissing me," she said pointedly, then sighed. "I think…I think it's being held down, unable to move, to decide. I don't like feeling pinned. I don't like not being able to get away. All I can remember, when I'm being held down like that, is how afraid I was, how much I was hurting, and how—"

He frowned, waiting for her to finish. When she didn't after a while, he prodded, "How…?"

"I don't know, how _humiliated_ and ashamed I was, I suppose. I would have done anything to escape, but there was _nothing_ I could have done that would have saved me." Her heart constricted as an echo of the powerless feelings tried to wrap its way around her mind again. "I…I am not incredibly good at this," she admitted. "Ron says I'm frigid."

"Does he?" A dark eyebrow cocked expressively in disbelief, something she felt almost pathetically grateful for.

"Yes," she shrugged awkwardly in his arms. "I don't know that I'm really made to be a vixen," she told him seriously. His face went incredibly impassive, except his eyes. Hermione felt her own narrow, as she realised. Oh, he was _laughing_ at her, the horrid, horrid man. "What?" she snapped crossly. "It's true. I'm skinny and unattractive and unresponsive."

"Now that is an absolutely absurd statement to make."

"Is it?" Hermione wondered, and found her chin caught in his hand and her gaze directed firmly back to his.

"Utterly." His thumb ran over her lower lip, and Hermione found herself pursing them to kiss the tip of it. His dark eyes went positively black for a moment, and the direction of his gaze dropped to her lips. "I'm going to kiss you again."

"Okay," Hermione found herself agreeing, before his mouth touched hers again. She _liked_ kissing him, after all. Their kiss was less gentle this time, less exploratory. His hold was still undemanding and easily loose enough that she could push him away if she liked. His mouth, however, told a different story. It commandingly took hers—took her—once again submerging her thoughts into a haze of sensual delight and heat. Happily, Hermione twined her fingers into his hair and snuggled herself more firmly against him, gasping a little as his long fingers dipped daringly higher and further inwards on her thigh, not quite stroking her centre.

His right hand suddenly abandoned her thigh to join his left on her back, the two of them stroking up her back and around her rib cage until one of his thumbs brushed the tip of her breast. The choked sounding moan she made would have been embarrassing if she had not been thoroughly wrapped up in how blissful he was making her feel.

Hermione squeezed her thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache between them a little. How was it possible that he evoked such a strong response in her so quickly from just a few kisses and light touches? His thumb stroked again and electricity seemed to zing through her, causing her discomfort to intensify. Hermione squirmed, gasping against his mouth, feeling burned. He shifted under her, and then his lips broke from hers, ghosting along her cheekbone to murmur in her ear, "Straddle me."

Hermione took the opportunity to draw his earlobe into her mouth, nipping it playfully and enjoying the low growl it produced. She nearly fell out of his lap trying to do as he said, shifting in his arms and nearly kneeing him in the groin as she tried to get one leg over his thighs. He winced a little and then chuckled at her eagerness, supporting her with his hands on her hips until she managed to settle with one knee on either side of his.

"Alright?" he asked, pressing against her slightly. The motion shot little jolts through her, bowing her spine and pulling a soft whine from her. She took the opportunity of finally having full access to his chest and ran her hands up it, pausing to finger his nipples, and feel the texture of the wiry black hair that he had.

She lowered her mouth back to his with a muttered, "Green light. A very, _very_ green light."

His hands were on her again, stroking the skin of her thighs in slow back and forth motions, each one drawing his fingers closer and closer to the cloth of her knickers—her now very sticky, very in the way knickers. Unconsciously she found herself rocking into him, rubbing herself over the hard ridge in his trousers and moaning into his mouth.

She knew that things would likely escalate soon and at that point the lovely anticipatory feeling would go away, swallowed up by the disappointing discomfort of actually having sex, but right now she felt absolutely lovely, burning from the inside out under his hands and mouth. It was worth the sex, she decided. If he could get her to a place where could at least _not mind_ the actual penetration, she could definitely see herself even initiating sexual encounters just for all the lovely feelings that came first.

It would probably be bad form to ask Ron to take lessons from the Potions master, she mused. _Pity._ Hermione rocked her hips forward again, angling them _just so,_ causing her clit to drag and be caught across the clearly strained fastenings of his trousers. She bit down on her lower lip, enjoying the pleasure that bolted through her as she made contact with him, and let her eyes drop to half-mast.

"That's right, lovely. Do what feels good right now, take your pleasure." His hand circled to stroke across her stomach, then dipped to thumb her clitoris through her knickers. He laughed, actually _laughed_ in her ear as her eyes flew open wide and she ground into his fingers. The hand not occupied with stroking her _down there_ found its way up her bare back again, drawing the shirt with it.

The mock sneer he gave her was reminiscent of the ones she had been subjected all throughout her school years, but the glint in his eyes made it somehow unbearably naughty and wicked. Her shirt caught on her shoulders as he attempted to remove it one handed, and when his hand started to abandon her knickers in order to help its mate, Hermione found herself protesting without thinking about it. She grunted inarticulately, and used her own hands demandingly to bring his back to its previous position, startling another laugh out of him. She helped him remove her nightshirt impatiently, continuing to try to widen her thighs around his to give his clever fingers better access to her sodden knickers.

"How can you possibly believe for one second anything that moron said to you? Look at you!" His free hand cupped one of her breasts and squeezed it gently, rolling the tip a little. Hermione arched her back and keened, uncertain of how to focus on the sensations coming from both her breast and her aching clitoris at the same time. One hand rubbed in firm, incessant little circles and the other stroked and taunted. It was driving her mad.

"You are not skinny. You are lithe, elegantly long and slender. Only an utter fool would look at this body, these perfect little handfuls and round arse and call you merely skinny." The hand on her breast circled around her back until his arm was just under her shoulder blades, then suddenly he was shifting forward, leaning her over his arm backward, even as she still straddled his thighs and helplessly jerked against his erection under the careful manipulation of his other hand.

"Still green, like this?"

"God—fuck—_yes,_ Severus!"

His mouth closed on her breast at the same time that his fingers pressed hard; she tightened, and exploded with a scream that she couldn't hold in. Her mind shattered in hazy black ripples even as her body shuddered, naked in his lap but for those blue knickers that were probably ruined forever. It took her several minutes to come back to herself, she could feel herself pant with exertion and a line of sweat worked its way down her back to be caught by his bare arm, still supporting her.

He eased her back upright again, so that she was no longer arched backward, and brought her forehead to his, and said seriously, "You are stunning in your passion, Hermione. I have seen a woman pretending, and I _know_ you felt that fire."

"Yes," she breathed, not wanting to say it too loudly, lest she break the moment. "That was...beyond anything I've ever…" She shook her head. "But it wasn't sex, not the whole thing. You…you didn't…"

His lips quirked. "No, not yet. I had planned to do away with these." His fingers stroked a line down her overly sensitised flesh through her knickers, making her shiver. "Then I was going to have you ride me."

"Ride you? You mean while sitting up on the couch?"

His brows quirked in amusement and his hips flexed subtly, grinding his erection up into her. "Indeed. You did say it was being pinned down that bothered you."

"Ron said…he said that it's not right—that he can't get off."

Severus' features twisted in clear annoyance. "Ronald Weasley is an idiot whose sexual knowledge would have no trouble fitting in a teaspoon."

Hermione was startled into giggles, before explaining, "I once said something very similar to him about his capacity for emotional depth."

"Minerva always did brag about how insightful you are," he responded generously.

Hermione grinned at him, and then her eyes narrowed. "What I'm noticing right now is that _you_ are still left, ah…"

"Wanting?" he finished dryly.

Hermione felt herself blush. "Well, uh, yeah. Is…is there any reason why we couldn't, I mean, could I…?"

His eyes gleamed, "By all means, far be it from me to stop you."

Hermione felt herself grin. "I suppose that was a terribly stupid thing for me to ask."

He nodded solemnly. "I expect better from you forthwith."

She glanced down at the clear tent in his trousers, and touched him, stroking a little, glancing at him through her lashes again. His eyes had shuttered slightly, a faint smile tipping the corners of his mouth. He arched a brow at her, and leant all the way back on the couch with a smirk, allowing her better access to him.

Feeling a bit bolder, Hermione stroked him again, trying to trace the length and breadth of him with only a little success through his trousers. Her frustration must have shown on her face, because his long fingers suddenly joined hers, slowly unfastening the buttons on his trousers. The opening, rather unsurprisingly, revealed more black cloth beneath.

"No colour even here?" she teased, drawing a line down his now clearly outlined cock.

"What did you expect, the Union Jack?" he asked acerbically.

Hermione couldn't stifle a giggle. "Fred and George used to each have a pair of those boxers. Saw 'em once."

Severus sneered, and lifted an eyebrow in response. "I'm afraid you'll have to live with the disappointment that this is my undergarment choice, then," he said mildly.

Hermione smiled and glanced down again. He had come to her house knowing that there was a good chance they would end up in exactly this position, she remembered. It was not a stretch of imagination to think that he had possibly chosen his trunks with the same care that she had her knickers. She wrapped a hand around him awkwardly through the opening in his trousers and squeezed gently, drawing a hiss of breath from the man under her.

"I'm not disappointed in the least," she said honestly, and stroked him through his chosen trunks again, a little enthralled by the reaction. There was a damp spot in the cloth at the head of his still-concealed erection and Hermione rubbed a thumb over it, pleased to have found proof of his own desire. She tried to circle him and take his measure with her hands; actions he seemed to find thoroughly enjoyable.

His hips shifted under her slightly, thrusting up more firmly into her fingers, and Hermione was reminded of her own helpless shifting when he had touched _her._ Encouraged by this behaviour, Hermione stroked him again from base to tip, smiling faintly when his hips shifted again. She glanced at his face again, only to find his narrowed gaze firmly locked on her breasts.

Suddenly self-conscious, particularly of the scars she knew would be highly visible in this position, Hermione stopped touching him to hunch in on herself, wrapping her arms around her middle. The pause in her motions brought his attention back to her face, his eyes glittering darkly when they met hers, and suddenly his long fingers were wrapping around her hips again and pushing her off his lap. Startled, Hermione stumbled, only barely gaining her footing to keep from landing on the floor. He followed her to a standing position, his hands running up her bare sides to close over her breasts, palming the tips of them softly.

"You are lovely, Hermione," he told her quietly. A hand drifted to stroke along the long scar that ran from under her right breast to her hip. "Every inch of you is lovely. This is a badge of honour, the mark of a warrior, not something to be ashamed of." His hand travelled back to her right nipple, teasing it softly, even as his other rose to trace her other scar. This one was wide and jagged, crossing just over her left breast. "This one, too. You have _nothing_ that should be hidden, least of all from a lover."

His palms closed over her breasts again and she found herself arching into them with a faint sigh. Ron had only ever given her unsubtle hints to see cosmetic Healers specializing in scarring or offered her potions from various apothecaries that were said to reduce the appearance of them. The longer Severus touched and stroked her, his dark voice wrapping around her like velvet, the more certain she became that Ronald had been horribly wrong, grinding salt into her wounds with his actions. She certainly was still traumatised, but not beyond hope, she suspected, not the way he had led her to believe she was.

The thought made her stretch up to kiss him again, capturing his mouth with hers and pressing into him. His skin was warm and firm under hers, the hair on his chest abrading her skin in a delicious contrast of textures. Her hands slowly travelled up the lengths of his arms, stopping here and there to explore and knead the muscle she found. He felt so delightfully strong and masculine without being overbearing; she felt like she _fit_ with him.

His tongue suckled hers and his hands were now cupping her rear, lifting her slightly against him. She supposed she should feel embarrassed and awkward; she was nearly naked and she was kissing, touching, and rubbing against the very hard penis of Severus Snape. The terror of her youth had her wrapped up in his arms and was giving her more bliss than she had ever thought would be possible. If she wasn't feeling entirely drunk on the taste of him, she would have found the situation incredibly surreal.

Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and dropped her eyes to where the band of his trousers gaped. Her fingers itched to unwrap him the rest of the way herself, to explore the lower half of his body the same way she had his chest. "May I...?"

He smirked at her again, his mouth only barely tipping, his eyes conveying his amusement once more. His eyes not leaving hers, he took her hand, and firmly pressed it against the hardness straining his trunks. "Green light," he deadpanned and Hermione found herself grinning widely in response. She could feel him actually pulse under her hand, and the last traces of her timidity vanished.

Eagerly, Hermione fumbled with the waistband of his trousers, pausing to stroke his cock and grip his arse to pull him closer in turns. She tilted up her face to kiss him again and happily lost herself in his mouth, only remembering that she had been trying to get him out of his remaining clothes when his hands abandoned her to deal with the offending garments himself. She helped him then, running her hands down his hips to hook into the trousers he was attempting to remove, hindering more than helping the process. His chest shook a little with silent laughter and he held his hands aloft, allowing her better access. Once she had refocused, it only took a few moments to rid him of his trousers and trunks, sliding them down his long, lean legs.

He kicked them away with apparent impatience and reached for her again, suddenly stilling and holding himself rigid when he realised she was studying him as intently as she had ever studied one of her textbooks in school. His cock was as fair as the rest of him and proudly erect, curving upward and reddened in his arousal. Tentatively, she reached out and wrapped her hand around it, touching him for the first time directly. The skin there was silky smooth and soft, the tip weeping just slightly from her attention.

Hermione ran her hands down his length, feeling the weight of his balls and following the veins back up. Her finger lightly smeared the bead of moisture at the tip, smoothing it over the head of his cock. He was a bit thicker than she had anticipated, she decided with a slight frown. She supposed she had imagined that he would be shaped there the same way he was all over: long and sort of rangy. The additional width would probably make things a little less comfortable. Maybe she could get away with bringing him off with her hands or by sucking on his cock—it had worked with Ron before.

As if he could read her intent, Severus wrapped his hands around her wrist, urging them away. "If you do that, I'm not going to last. I was under the impression that you wanted to try riding?"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat. _Caught._

His tone was non-judgmental, "Hermione, if you are not comfortable, you need to tell me. _Say_ so."

"And if I'm not?" Her voice quavered a little.

His eyes glittered. "Then you say 'yellow,' and maybe we go back to what we were doing. We'll just sit on the couch and play a little bit, while I attempt to turn off that busy little brain of yours. Or maybe you stay standing just like this, while _I_ try something different." The husky timbre of his voice promised heaven and Hermione's brain stuttered, wondering what he intended.

His long fingers cupped over her breasts again, thumbing her nipples until they were stiff, catching her breath and reminding her of the aching, rippling blackness she had dissolved into on the couch with him. His hands stroked slowly down her ribs, his feather-light touch raising anticipatory goose bumps on her skin. They hooked into the waistband of her knickers, and his eyebrows arched in challenge. "Green light?"

His look was one of pure, unadulterated carnality, and for a moment she had trouble breathing before she remembered to sigh out a low, "Yes." Permission thus attained, he smirked at her, and slowly drew her knickers down her thighs, lowering himself with them in front of her.

Hermione closed her eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face when he saw her completely bare. She was nearly shivering in anticipation; she knew what he planned. Despite never having experienced it first hand, she would be a fool not to read his intent, but it still caught her by surprise when his mouth suddenly closed on her. His large nose—how many awful jokes had been attached to it?—was nudging up against her, the flat of his tongue dragging through her folds boldly to finish in a flick _just so_ on her clitoris.

Hermione choked on a moan, her knees starting to buckle, only to have him grip her hips to steady her and move to kiss the inside of her thighs lightly. His warm breath sighed and teased her sensitive skin, and she squirmed, only to have him ignore her silent request. His hands stroked her legs and teased the back of her knees, his mouth scattering small kisses across her hips and thighs.

Frustrated, Hermione widened her stance a bit and rocked her hips, trying to tell him without words what she wanted, only to have him trace her outer lips tauntingly with the tip of his tongue. He was almost, _almost_ where she needed him; he clearly knew it and was pointedly denying her, the arse.

Hermione heard herself whimper slightly; he was driving her mad! She tilted her hips again and let out a breathy _"please,"_ only to feel him merely smile against her thigh. He blew a soft stream of warm air on her, baiting her, and Hermione snapped. Unable to take the tormenting any more, she fisted her fingers into his hair and forcibly tilted his head, bringing his mouth and nose firmly into contact with her quim.

He let out a startled chuckle, and it sent _glorious_ vibrations zinging through her. Then, _finally_, he gave her what she wanted, licking and sucking and nuzzling until she could feel herself on the cusp of breaking apart as she had the first time. Then his fingers entered her, two of them, just as he sucked her clitoris firmly into his mouth.

Her vision tunnelled into that world shattering blackness, her knees collapsing under her. She didn't remember him breaking her fall, only that a split second later she was being hauled up in his arms, her legs winding around his waist and her head tucked into his neck as he carried her back across the room to the couch.

He fell backwards, landing with none of the grace she had come to expect from him, his mouth lunging upwards to take hers hungrily, his hips thrusting against hers so that she slid over his naked cock. He was hard and hot, ruthlessly stimulating her already hypersensitive and burning flesh. She hadn't thought it was possible to feel any more, to take any more, but the feel of him beneath her, naked between her thighs, his cock sliding against her was pushing her past rationality. "I want in you," his voice was harsh, strained. "Please, I'll make you feel good, I swear it. Let me in you."

Breathless, her mind still hazy with passion and the glittering shards of sexual fulfilment, Hermione nodded, unable to focus on anything but that hot length still rubbing against her, and kissed him again, arching her breasts into his hands and rolling her hips helplessly on him. He broke free with a harsh grunt and practically spat at her, "Say it—out loud!"

"Yes," she said impatiently, "Severus, _yes._ Green bloody light, just don't stop!"

He gripped her hips and lifted her, and then she was abruptly speared. Her eyes flew open wide in shock and her nails bit into his shoulders; both of them stilled a moment, staring at each other.

_Full._ Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. She felt so _full._ He was heavy and thick and ruthlessly unyielding, buried so deeply inside her she fancied she could feel him in her stomach. The angle was entirely new to her, and it felt somehow, impossibly _more._

What she didn't feel, she realised, was pain. The thought dawned slowly, and Hermione let out the breath she was holding shakily, relaxing slightly as she became aware of it. She felt a bit odd, but she wasn't hurting, and she wasn't afraid. A little apprehensive, perhaps, but not _afraid._

She looked at him again and noted with wonder his strained face; his throat and jaw were tight with the effort to hold still until she was comfortable. Experimentally, she wriggled a little in place, attempting to figure out how to use her newly discovered muscles. His head tipped to rest on the back of the couch with a low groan, and his own hips tilted up to thrust in unconscious response.

The friction it created had her eyes widening again, her mouth parting a little in pleased surprise. This was an altogether different feeling than when he had touched her or used his mouth. This was a deep, internal stroking of nerves she wouldn't have believed existed if she hadn't felt them just now. Encouraged, she shifted again, rocking against him as best she could with her minimal leverage.

"Hermione," he hissed, flexing under her again, "You have no idea…you feel…" His hands tightened on her thighs. Clearly, he really, _really_ liked what she was doing. Hermione smiled, enthralled by the sight and sound of Severus Snape rendered wordless and moaning, and determinedly began to roll her hips.

He groaned; she sighed—he felt incredible inside her. This was not the painful and humiliating experience she'd had before; _this_ was what all the fuss was about. Hermione tipped forward, trying to get more leverage, and found that it changed the angle inside her as well. Her lips parted on a gasp and she involuntarily tightened around him, shuddering slightly.

_"Fuck!_ The profanity exploded out of him and his hands suddenly rose from her thighs to grip her hips, his own bucking under her, pushing himself deep. Hermione's breath caught on a low wail as he seemed to rasp along every nerve ending she had, setting off small explosions of sensation. She writhed against him instinctively, rolling her hips in answer. It was all the answer he needed.

His head snapped up and his dark eyes shot open to lock on hers. He began to thrust, driving himself up into her in a fast, incessant rhythm. Her world caught on fire as every fibre of her being focused on the heavy surge between her legs, the way her body seemed to weep and grip him in turns, and the delicious, consuming friction. She was somehow utterly out of control and unable to care. Nothing mattered but the building pressure that was threatening once more to explode out of her and the intense, dark glitter of his eyes.

Lost. She was utterly lost in them, in the rippling heat, in the sweat she could see on his face and the set of his bared teeth. The sudden urge to kiss him, to claim his mouth as surely as he was claiming her body overtook her. She leant forward again, pressing her mouth to his urgently. Their kiss was as wild as their motions, raw and powerful and, she suspected, just a little bit dangerous.

_He_ was dangerous.

His hands had abandoned her hips to wrap around her waist, clutching her to him. Her legs were still around his waist, making it nearly impossible to do anything but let him control their movements. Hermione felt herself tighten like a drawn bow, her spine arching as the base of it seemed to suddenly ignite. She came with a scream that she couldn't hold in, not even noticing as he stiffened and joined her with a raw, almost feral sounding growl.

She slumped against him when she came back to herself; resting her head on his shoulder and shivering with minute aftershocks. They were both a bit sticky and slick with sweat; it took Hermione a moment to realise that tears were actually leaking from her eyes. She sniffled a little and smiled, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, enjoying the simple feel of his skin under hers.

His head turned a little at the motion, one hand half-heartedly lifting to stroke her back. "You're crying."

"Yes." Hermione smiled into his shoulder, and then continued, "It's not a bad sort of crying. Relieved, I think."

"I didn't hurt you, at the end there?"

Hermione lifted up a little to look him in the eyes again and gave him a watery grin. "No. No, not in the least. Well. I suspect I might be a bit sore, I'm not used to this sort of thing, and you're…well a bit bigger than I thought you'd be."

His look was indignant. "You thought I would be _small?"_

"No, no, not at all," Hermione found herself giggling. "Just not quite that _wide."_

"Insufferable girl," he retorted, but he said it with more amusement than anything else. His hand stroked her back again, softly, then observed, "One would never suspect you lived a year out of doors once. You have the softest skin."

Hermione smiled up at him, pleased that he had noticed. "I exfoliated when you sent me to the bath," she informed him.

His eyes lit with humour and his lips quirked. "Only a Gryffindor would admit something like that."

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely."

"Well then. In the full spirit of Gryffindor pride, I will also fully disclose that I picked out my knickers just for you, too."

The sound of his dark, rich laughter filled her living room.

* * *

_A/N: Aloha! I am currently on the beautiful island of Maui, enjoying a last hurrah with Mr Song before our family becomes one bigger. So a shout out to all my Hawaiian friends and followers! Maybe I'll run into you on the beach on Maalaea! Thank you again so much for continuing to read and review-you guys make my day!_

_To those of you who are not following me on TMB, Facebook or LiveJournal, this is probably news to you-I am pregnant with my very own first wee-tiny! I am about eleven weeks along, and everything looks healthy and fine! There is an ultrasound up on LiveJournal if you are interested._


	4. Part Four

**Summary: **When Hermione decides she can no longer live with the mental scarring wrought by her vicious assault at Malfoy Manor, she enlists the aid of her former Potions professor in exchange for holding his life debt fulfilled... a very lemony tale written for the SSHG Prompt Fest 2013based on a prompt by Shiv5468. It is complete in six parts.

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy

**Warnings:** This story is Alternate Universe (AU) and is rated MA. It is _not _suitable for children under eighteen. It contains strong language, violence, lemons (graphic depiction of sex), light bondage, and a ménage a trois involving Malfoy Sr.

**Thank You:** To the usual suspects driven mad in my quest to complete this in two months, Jenidralph, ThornedHuntress, and Nathaniel Cardeu. A warm and wonderful heartfelt thank-you to Shiv5468 for giving me an awesome prompt to play with, and the incomparable SusanMarieR, who has once again made the feeling of the story come to life in the beautiful banner. A special thank you also to Songquake for helping me with some Latin, and Savva, for letting me pick her brain about Eastern European names and spellings.

**The Original Prompt: **Hermione can't have sex in the missionary position because it gives her flashbacks to Malfoy Manor. Ron just can't let a women be on top. Enter Severus, a man keen to pay back his life debt to Hermione for saving her... (and Lucius, a man looking for forgivenes, if you'd like to add him)

* * *

**GETTING PAST BROKEN  
****By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Part Four:  
**

Severus awoke the following morning disorientated. He frowned, his mind registering the unfamiliar bed and far wall milliseconds before noting that there was a warm, soft weight at his back, taking up more bed space. His liaisons did not last the night, as a rule, to avoid exactly this sort of awkward leave-taking. He carefully attempted to sit up, without waking the woman, only to remember the previous day while only partially sitting.

His eyes shot to her, still slightly disbelieving. She was curled partially around her pillow, one leg tossed over the bunched up covers of the bed as if she'd tried kicking them off in her sleep and had been unable to. Her hair was a wild curly mess that hid the good majority of her face; the only visible part of it was her mouth. It was red, kiss-swollen, and possessed of a very smug and satisfied looking smile.

Severus allowed himself his own smug smile that he had put the expression there.

Leaning back into the bed on his elbow, he studied her, trying to decide what his next course of action would be. Following their rather incredible encounter the day before, they had bathed together—carefully soaping each other clean of the sweat and smell of sex, kissing languidly and enjoying the simple feel of each other's skin. They had soaked and relaxed; she had piled her willful curls up on her head and had kissed his knuckles when he had passed her the fluffy bath scrubber.

She had teased him about making her bathe three times in one day, and then had managed somehow to talk him into letting her wash his hair herself instead of letting him do it. Severus' eyes closed at the memory. It was something he would allow her to talk him into again anytime she liked. Her fingers had massaged his scalp as she had worked the lather in, seeming to know and understand instinctively where every headache of his life had taken place. She had carefully worked loose muscles in his head and upper neck that had probably been tightly flexed for years.

He had returned the favour as best he could; her long curls had tangled around his fingers as if in protest. She did not seem to notice his difficulty, instead making soft little sighing noises of pleasure that would have shot straight to his groin if he hadn't been already completely knackered.

It had been a tender moment, simple, unguarded and sweet. Had it been any other woman he would not have allowed it—such domesticity had the tendency to give rise to the belief that he was willing to continue in a relationship of some sort. It wasn't just any other woman, any other liaison, however. This was Hermione Granger, who held his life debt and required more care than he would typically offer.

So he had bathed with her, learned her, eaten a modest, but tasty supper and then had curled up in her bed with her. They had not stayed curled into each other of course; they were likely both too used to sleeping alone for that, he reasoned. Still, it was undeniably rather nice to wake up and find a warm naked female next to him. He had barely to move and his skin would be against hers. The thought was a heady one.

He really should not let a sleep-over like this happen again, he determined. The thought was inexplicably distressing, though he resolutely pretended that it wasn't. This was about being free, he reminded himself. Not about the ephemeral feeling of _rightness_ that was utterly ridiculous in reality.

Despite it all, he couldn't seem to stop himself from stroking a hand down the curve of her spine and smiling as she gave another one of her little sighs. He had come to cherish that sound just a little; proof positive that his touch pleased her. She wasn't in his bed because it was glamorous to shag a famous war hero—she had as much right to that particular title as he did. Nor was she trying to snag a husband.

She, a twenty-year-old almost virgin with one of the finest minds Hogwarts had seen in a decade, had had chosen _him_, of all men, to teach her to enjoy sex instead of fear it. He couldn't help but feel slightly wondering and prideful of that. It was like some kind of bizarre fantasy-turned-life. She had sighed, moaned, and traced the lines of his body and scars with a look of pleased discovery rather than pity, nor had she placed him on an obsessive, romantic pedestal.

She had kissed him as if she had been starving for his mouth, writhed, and fallen apart in his arms _thrice._ Hermione had responded to his touch as easily as his wand responded to his magic. Severus had always known that the youngest Weasley son was an idiot, but he had never imagined that the young man was _this_ imbecilic. The dunderhead had not only cock-blocked himself, but had actually driven his girlfriend to seek sexual therapy with someone else. How he had managed that with a woman as naturally sensual as Hermione was beyond logic.

As if she could sense his thoughts, the woman next to him stirred, a hand lifting to her head to draw the tangle of curls out of her face. Her smile was dazzling, begging to be kissed. "Good morning," she murmured, drowsily.

"Yes, well. It's morning at any rate," he responded automatically—he had been answering Minerva that way every morning for years. He regretted the words for the first time in his life when her smile slipped, a hint of anxious hurt simmering behind her eyes. Severus cleared his throat, and muttered, "I'm not much of a morning person." He paused, and then conceded. "I do believe this is one of the better mornings I have experienced in a long while."

Her smile instantly bloomed again, and he called himself ten kinds of fool. Since when had he excused himself to anyone concerning his mood or sarcasm? Her enjoyment of his company was hardly a requirement to fulfill his debt. He just had to make her enjoy him sexually. He seemed to be having nearly no problem on that front at all; she would no doubt be done with him in a matter of days, thus freeing him of her.

So why then did he want to see her smile so badly? He had always promptly left other beds as soon as his needs were met; long before anything beyond the general understanding that they would fuck could develop. In fact, when his previous partners had expressed any form of desire that he linger, he had deliberately sabotaged it with the most caustic and acidic comments he could muster. He had even recounted them a few times for Lucius' private amusement.

The thought of deliberately wounding the feelings of Hermione, though, was oddly repellent for reasons he couldn't fully explain to himself. It was mere obligation, he finally ascertained. He felt responsible for her at the present moment, and it shifted his priorities. _Temporarily._

Her mouth brushing softly across his cut off his defensive thoughts abruptly. She pulled back, a shy amusement dancing in her eyes, and told him, "You were looking a bit too serious for morning. I thought I would try to fix that."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." She tilted her face up clearly inviting him to kiss her again. When he did, it was a warm, affectionate greeting that reminded him of their shared bath, the day before. It was not a type of kiss that he was accustomed to; kissing had always been either a practiced calculation or a passionate meeting of mouths—but always, _always_ an understood stepping stone.

This, however, _this_ was kissing just for the sake of kissing. Like in the bath, she kissed him, touched him and snuggled into his arms without the intention of arousing him. He should have found it disturbing. Just as it had when he had woken in a bed not his own, an internal alarm jangled incessantly on his nerves, cautioning against this sort of behavior. He wouldn't want her to get the impression that this was anything but what it was.

_Bollocks to that._ His thought lazily, sinking back down on to the bed with her. It was morning, and he was not fully awake. He was warm, ensconced in a soft bed with a young naked woman who seemed to be making it her priority to ease him into the harsh light of day as gently and enticingly as possible. Only an idiot would turn that sort of treatment down, and Severus prided himself on not being an idiot.

Thus having decided to indulge himself, if only this once, Severus let his mind sink back into the half-lucidity of having a proper lie-in, and reached out for her. Her body tucked alongside his agreeably, her legs twining with his and her mouth tipping to allow him to kiss her more fully. She was pliant and eager, her hands stroking up his ribs to grip his shoulders enthusiastically. Before long their activities had become far less benign; her body twisted against his and she moaned softly into his mouth, one leg drawing up the outside of his to hook around his thigh encouragingly.

His mind lost to the hazy mixture of lust and only partial wakefulness, Severus rolled her under him without thinking about it, situating himself between her thighs to rub his cock against the warmth he found there.

Her nails bit into his shoulders and she jerked her mouth away from his, her eyes going wide. Startled, Severus blinked down at her, just in time to feel her struggle against his weight and breathe out in a panicked rush, "Red light, red, red, red, red, red!"

Awareness suddenly snapped into place and he released her instantly, sitting up and cursing under his breath. It seemed he _was_ an idiot after all. He scooted away from her, giving her space, and glanced over his shoulder at her, contrite. Her head was lowered and her arms folded defensively across her stomach, and to his shock, she was apologizing plaintively.

"I'm sorry, so sorry; I know I'm not quite right, that was the whole point of this, you see. I don't mean to be a cock-tease, truly I don't."

Severus shook his head and interrupted her, "Hermione. Hermione, look at me." When her gaze reluctantly shifted to his he told her firmly, "I am not upset with you, I'm upset with myself. You informed me that being held down triggered you, and I failed you in that. I am absolutely responsible for this…mishap, and take the blame entirely. You did exactly what you were supposed to when I put you into a bad position, a position you should _never_ have been in with me in the first place."

The look she gave him was owlish, and uncertain. "What if I never get past this? What if I'm never able to just have sex like a normal woman?"

Severus looked at her disbelievingly. "Hermione, what do you think happened yesterday? That was sex—incredible sex. You dislike a specific position and for very good reasons; why is that so outlandish?"

Hermione grimaced. "I'm a bit too much like Ron, I suppose, neither of us like being on our backs."

Severus levelled the expression at her he usually reserved for first-year potions students. "Hermione, you and Weasley are nothing alike. He has not been traumatised and tortured until he found a sexual position abhorrent. From what I have been able to gather from your explanations, he is the kind of person who prefers to be dominant during sexual intercourse. On top of which, he has no imagination, has been badly educated, and horribly ham-fisted with you about it."

He paused to let that sink in, and then continued, "There is no 'right' way to have sex. In fact, the only 'wrong' way to have sex that I know of is when it non-consensual. Most people prefer more variety than the one basic position. Now you are asking me to believe that he has convinced you—one of the more intelligent young people of my acquaintance—that a woman who thrives on challenge and has as many interests as you do could possibly be satisfied with his one way of doing things? Even if you had not been grievously injured the idea would be ridiculous."

"Do you believe that I, too, prefer to be ah, _dominant_ like he does?" she asked carefully.

"No," he answered instantly, feeling his lips quirk again. "You seemed to follow my lead easily enough, in any case. You might find some enjoyment out of the more exotic bed games later, when you are a bit more comfortable with yourself and with enjoying sex, but I don't believe that you are naturally inclined to need that type of play to be satisfied."

"You seem to know a lot about it," she ventured. "Are you…?"

Severus felt his brows climb nearly up to his hairline. "No. Not as a rule," Severus quirked a wry eyebrow, and admitted reluctantly, "I have not had a great many partners until these past few years; and I have not really been involved with any of them long enough to be at ease experimenting in that manner with those I have had. A few tamer games; a surprising number of women seem to enjoy the idea of being tied to the bed by a former Death Eater, but I am not the sort to suggest such things first."

Uncertain if he should continue, Severus gauged her expression for any hint of disgust or horror, and to his bemusement, found only thoughtful consternation on her face. She caught his own look and shrugged, a bit awkwardly. "I don't believe I would enjoy that, with my particular phobia, but I have to admit that I _am_ a bit curious in general."

Severus found himself responding faintly, "I am not entirely uneducated in it, and I am acquainted with a few people who _do_ prefer that type of relationship, and if it is your wish…"

To his amusement, she blushed, and muttered, "Later, perhaps." Her eyes met his again, hopefully, and she asked, "Could we do something else today? Something not-related to sex, I mean?"

Severus eyed her, concerned. She wanted to spend time with him out of bed—she had clearly forgotten how unpleasant he was on a regular basis. "Did you have something particular in mind? I am not the sort who goes on shopping trips, or is pleasant company to be had at sporting events. You might be better served by simply ending our association if that is your desire."

The look of stunned hurt and unhappiness on her face was shocking to him; someone might have thought he'd slapped her rather than offered her a way to gracefully remove him from her life and private endeavours. Her lip trembled slightly before firming into a stubborn line, and she slanted an angry look at him. "I realise it is the Slytherin way to manipulate and use, but I had thought you had more honour than to treat me this way after your speech about debts and owing."

Severus couldn't stop his eyes widening in affronted shock, and he responded, "You asked it of me, and I came to your home in good faith." When she continued to look upset, he continued cautiously, "You requested that we no longer engage in sexual contact; I did not believe that you wished to continue down that particular route with me henceforth, considering my breach this morning."

She looked stunned. "I only meant for a while; I had not thought to end the agreement entirely. You halted immediately when I asked, and apologised directly after. I was not raised to give up on something so easily." She looked uneasy and added, "Unless you are not interested in continuing further?"

Severus arched an eyebrow, and glanced languidly down her still-naked body, only half covered by the blankets of her bed. "I certainly have no objections." She blushed rather prettily at his compliment, he thought, and he said quietly, "It is…very forgiving of you." Suddenly feeling a little too kind for his own sense of well-being, he acidly followed the statement with, "and very Hufflepuff."

Hermione's lips curved and her eyes danced, and he wondered if she had somehow caught the humour in his own expression. "A dire insult from you, I suppose?" She rolled her eyes at him sarcastically.

"Indeed, but not so horrifically dire and unfortunate as being called a Gryffindor," he sneered.

"Hey!" she protested, but she was laughing again, her face lighting up with it. She snagged her pillow and tossed it half-heartedly at him, laughing more when he deflected it easily, contemptuous look still firmly in place. She studied him a little, still smiling faintly, and said, "Do you know what I would really enjoy?"

He gave her an arch look and said dryly, "No, and I don't care in the least."

"I would like you to take me back to Hogwarts, to your lab, and tell me all about the horribly fascinating research you're doing this summer. Failing that, I want to read your books while you ignore me and putter about with said research instead."

He sneered at her. "What makes you think I would be at all interested in complying with either of those requests?"

She sat back in the bed with a hooded, smug expression. "I'll suck your cock afterwards if you do."

Severus couldn't stop himself from letting out a sharp bark of laughter. It was the very last thing he had expected from her—particularly after what had happened. _"Bribing_ me are you? How positively Slytherin of you. I do believe, Miss Granger, that there may be hope for you, yet."

Her delicate little nose wrinkled. "I do wish you wouldn't call me that," she snipped. "Makes it all sound so sordid."

"Oh, we couldn't have that at all, now could we?" He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. She was terribly amusing. _Dangerously so,_ his mind cautioned.

_She_ was dangerous.

"You agree then?" she asked, and then scolded mildly, "Don't think I haven't noticed that you never actually said so." Her eyebrow lifted in a parody of Severus' own sneering expression. "Yet."

Severus gave her an imperious expression. "I will grant you access to my research and even subject my person to your tender ministrations, in return for your most solemn promise that you will keep your knowledge of it private."

The look she returned to him was a mixture of pleased gratification and the sort of earnestness only a Gryffindor could affect without looking absurd. "I would never reveal your research secrets, Severus."

"I was speaking of your knowledge of my person," he shot back snootily, to her clear amusement. Tossing back the covers, he sat up and finally removed himself from the bed, tilting his head to the side to stretch neck muscles unused to her pillows. "Of course, first, we must bathe."

Hermione laughed incredulously, the sound tumbling out of her in helpless waves. "Bathe? Severus, we just did last night, for my _third_ time of the day I might remind you, and we haven't done anything to warrant another one since then!"

Severus felt his guard rise, his spine straightening, and said stiffly, "I _always_ bathe in the morning, without fail. It is something that is non-negotiable with me." He watched awareness suddenly dawn in her eyes. Her gaze darted briefly to his already greasy feeling hair and he felt a prickling sense of anger and shame. Feeling his jaw tighten slightly, he said as casually as he could, "It will be good for you as well. No doubt you are a little sore, since you are unused to the sort of activities we participated in yesterday. I would very much like it if you joined me." He waited a bit and then lifted a brow. "You're much better at massaging my head than I am."

Looking amused, but still slightly chastened, she nodded, and followed him out of bed into the bathroom. Things were different this morning than they had been the previous night, he gauged. Then it had been a tender exchange as they basked in the afterglow of one of the more drawn-out and lengthier sexual encounters he had ever had.

Now they were both prickling with awareness of each other's presence, reminded of exactly who they were. The bath ran beside them, only partially remembered, as they gauged each other. This wasn't the shy exploration from the day before, when she had sat in his lap, half-naked. Nor was it the tender and soothing exchange in the bath that followed, while they slowly brought each other down from the drama of climax. This was a frank assessment of each other naked in bright light, fully cognizant of who the other was.

He tried to imagine what she saw when she looked at him just now. He was average height—perhaps a little over, but not by much. He was also underweight—no matter how many calories he consumed at Madam Pomfrey's insistence, he never seemed to attain the filled out look shared by most of his peers. He was overly pale and un-freckled, while his hair and eyes were very dark. The contrast made him appear sallow and pallid rather than simply fair. If that were not enough, his hair was perpetually oily from some sort of genetic misfortune, regardless of how many times he washed it, his nose was large, his lips were thin, and his cheekbones sharp. His combined features no doubt made him look a bit wraith-like. Or vampiric, he thought sourly.

_Yes,_ he was very well aware of the idiotic student rumours of him being a vampire. Which lead him to another unhappy point against him: he was a sour, sarcastic bastard of a Potions professor who had made a show of taking particular delight in torturing Harry Potter and his friends in school.

Of which she was one. She was quite possibly the last woman in the entire world with whom he thought he would ever be taking as a lover. If there were ever a woman still living with the right to dislike him, it should have been Hermione Granger. The brash and somewhat homely swot with more enthusiasm than was strictly likable in a person had been a regular target of his acid tongue. He had most often targeted her intelligence and understanding—it was what she was most proud of, after all.

It had been his one nasty comment about her appearance however, that had sent her running from him in tears. He wondered if she remembered that, from nearly six years ago. He had sneaking suspicion that she did. Yet now she stood before him utterly bare, having taken him into her body and shared her darkest fears, and was now subjecting her physical form to his frank and often cutting scrutiny.

Of course, she had little to fear, truly, about any assessment he might make of her beauty, especially in comparison to his own less-than-perfect appearance. She was long and limber looking; soft skin stretching smoothly over firm muscle and a trim waist. Her hips and breasts looked a bit small from this angle but he knew that when she bent over, her bottom was as lush as any man could wish. When she rode him on the couch, her breasts had maintained the perfect amount of sway and bounce to be perfectly pleasing.

Her mouth was a touch too wide, but her smile was dazzling. Likewise, her eyes were a rather forgettable brown but lit up with such enthusiasm and fire that it was impossible not to be entranced by what she was saying. Her most distracting and detracting feature was her hair—that untameable riot of curls that she likely brushed too excessively, resulting in the bushy, frizzled halo around her face.

Hers was a beauty most easily noticed when she was animated, he concluded. It was in that expressive glance and too-wide smile, in the subtle and unconscious sway of her body when she moved. It was in the sharp intelligence that she put behind everything she did—it was exactly the sort of attractive that he found devastating.

Oh, a beautiful woman could make him stare and lust; he was male after all, and hardly blind. However, such women were rarely worth more than the first appreciative look and a hot and sweaty tumble if he might manage to persuade them to it. He had never analysed their beauty the way he was attempting to do with Hermione's, he would never have spent the night with them, or bathed with them.

He _certainly_ would never have accepted a mere blowjob in return for access to his research. With her however, it all just seemed to happen before he could think about it, before he could process what he was doing, understand the reasons why and force himself to surcease.

Even the promised blowjob was not really of that much import to the situation at hand, he realised. He _wanted_ her to see his research. He wanted her to see his projects, the results of his long hours and knack for Potionery. He wanted to show off, he concluded. Show off the mind and talents he was so proud of in the way he would never really be able to show off his physical attributes. He wanted to impress this young woman—this intellectual—who might actually understand and appreciate his work for what it was.

He wanted to erase this sub-par memory she now owned of his naked, whipcord frame and replace it with the image of the area he truly was worthy in. He wanted her to find him as devastatingly attractive as he found her, and if that wasn't the bloody most frightening thought he had ever had in his life then he didn't know what was.

He should never have insisted on a bath, he thought. He should have agreed to meet her at his quarters in the afternoon, instead. She had seen him naked already, stroked him, explored him with her hands and eyes, but she had never just taken a frank, glaringly bright-lighted objective look at him.

_It doesn't matter in the least,_ he told himself. _She is a means to an end, a key to truly being free. She isn't a real lover, no matter how attractive you actually find her. She's a woman who is being paid the proper attention to sexually for the first time, any looks of fondness or passion is nothing more than that._

One day very soon, Hermione Granger would take control of her own sexuality and fears, and at that point be done with him. It was _imperative_ that he remember that. Severus turned abruptly and flipped off the tap to her bath before it became too full to hold both of them, and stepped into the water, feeling unreasonably grumpy, considering that she was about to join him.

"You have an incredibly magnetic presence," her voice behind him was small, and a little uncertain. Severus turned to stare at her in surprise, still standing in hot water up to his calves in the deep bath. She half smiled, looking nervous, and continued, "It's hard to really explain. You possess a charisma that is powerfully compelling to me."

She moved closer, and carefully stepped into the bath with him until they stood face to face. Her hands reached up and she placed them flat against his chest, idly toying with the hair there, and his flat nipples. "You are surprisingly well toned for a man who works in a classroom. Not hulking, of course, but definitely not weak in the least. You're built like a runner, or a cyclist." She was murmuring it almost to herself now, instead of him, her fingertips tracing odd little circles on his chest.

"I do run, usually. In the early mornings, three times a week. Hogwarts is also possessed of a lot of stairs," he reminded her. "I might not be the athletic stereotype, but that certainly doesn't mean I'm going to let myself go like Horace did."

She grinned and said shyly, "I like it. You look strong and masculine, but not like you are going to crush me if I ask you to hold me. I've had my share of the overly brawny sort, and I can assure you that I'm quite done with it. I like the way you fit much better."

He curled his lip and tried not to let her see how affecting her words were. "The bath is getting cold," he griped, and she laughed.

"Well, let's wash your hair then. I want to see your research."

She suited actions to words, sitting behind him and scrubbing his scalp, using her nails lightly while he twisted and nearly purred under her fingers. He might have taken out the book on erotic massage, but she was clearly a natural talent at it. It shouldn't have been surprising, he thought caustically. She'd always been good at nearly everything she had attempted. She carefully rinsed his hair again, having him lean back until his head was in her lap and he was staring at her upside down, his knees bent awkwardly even in the overly large bath.

Her fingers stroked along the stubble on his jaw line and she gave him a teasing grin as he sat upright again, wiping water from his eyes and squeezing it from his hair. "You're starting to grow in, some," she informed him. "It felt fantastic between my legs, but I'm pretty certain I've got a rash from it."

"I'll take care of it at Hogwarts," he said dismissively. "I have some depilatory there I've put together."

"Oh!" She brightened. "Use mine. It's guaranteed to last three months." She pointed around his body at a cluster of bottles on the rim of the bath, snugging her breasts to his back. The feeling was entirely distracting.

He didn't reach for the bottle, instead focusing on the rather nice feeling of a naked and slippery Hermione rubbing against his back. He tried to decide if he could somehow reverse their positions without her catching on as to why, and end up with a naked and slippery Hermione in his lap. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling her struggle to reach from behind him, and pictured her legs spread on either side of his. From that position he could grab hold of her hipbones and arse and bounce her up and down in that position on his now rapidly hardening cock.

Inspiration struck and he felt himself actually smile. If she folded her knees back so that she could control the bouncing up and down herself, it would even leave his hands free to play with her exposed genitals, he decided, pleased. It certainly wouldn't be pinning her down.

"Here, why don't we trade places so that you can reach it properly, I wouldn't want to accidentally pick the wrong bottle." He said aloud, feeling ingenious for this excuse to get her exactly where he wanted her. He considered for a moment, and then added, because he was Severus Snape and he should, "that stuff isn't going to make me smell like lavender or gardenia is it?"

Hermione tried to manoeuvre around him in the bath, and muttered, "No, of course not. I think it has a bit of a citrusy-lemon smell, but it only lasts for about a day."

That was certainly worth it, Severus decided. He would never have admitted it aloud, but he was actually rather fond of lemon sweets. Smug smile still in place, Severus watched as she finally gave up trying to reach around him and stood, wobbling as she stepped around him to trade places with him.

It happened so quickly he had hardly any time to react. Her arse pleasantly just in front of his face, she picked up one of the bottles from the edge of the bath, when her foot suddenly slid out from under her. Her arms windmilled, trying to catch her balance, and his knees shot together reflexively to shield himself as she toppled backward towards him. She landed with a massive splash and a surprised shriek, her elbow connecting with the bottom of the bath and nudging alarmingly close to his balls.

They stared at each other for a long, horrified minute, before he cleared his throat and said, his voice dangerously low, "You are _very_ lucky that blow didn't land, Hermione." His erection had withered for the _second_ time that morning, this time under the threat of being nearly crushed.

She licked her lips nervously, and said tentatively, "So…you're okay then?"

"Yes, are you? You landed rather hard."

"My elbow's smarting a bit. That's, uh, not the problem, though." The clearly anxious expression on her face made _him_ start to worry.

"There is a problem," he stated.

"Well, maybe not," she hedged. "It rather depends on how you look at it, I suppose, and it's not _permanent,_ and it could have honestly been much worse—"

"Hermione." His voice came out in low, growled warning.

"Well, you see, I used the depilatory yesterday, in the bath, and didn't cap it quite right, and I just landed on the container, so I'm afraid quite a bit of it may be in the water at this point—"

_"WHAT?"_ When asked later, he would certainly deny that his voice could reach that pitch. For the moment, however, he was too busy hastily trying to remove himself from the tainted water. Too little too late, he discovered with horror. The potion she used for her needs was apparently of very high quality, and with nearly a full bottle of it emptied in the bath, he was rendered silky smooth and hairless from the waist down in almost no time.

Severus stared in horror. His legs had been pale, but at least they hadn't looked too awful behind his dark leg hair. Now, however, he only had pale, nude flesh—reminiscent of a fish's underbelly, and his genitals! Smooth as the day he was born, as if he was one of those male dancers in poof-and-ladies' clubs. The look he gave Hermione, still left sitting at his feet, was murderous.

She visibly swallowed and said weakly, "At least the hair on your head didn't get any on it…" Her voice trailed off and she frowned, looking disappointed. "Oh, even the little line from your navel is gone. I wanted to trace it later when I—" she cut herself off, and brightened slightly. "Well, this will make _that_ considerably easier."

"Hermione!" he thundered.

"What?" she said crossly. "It isn't like I meant to, and it _will_ be easier to suck you off without picking hair out of my mouth. No one has to see besides us two." She gripped the edge of the bath and stood again, carefully. Water sluiced off her body as she did, revealing that she, too, had lost the dark curly thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs.

Severus arched his brows again, interested, and then felt his lips twitch. Perhaps this incident wasn't a total loss. Certainly not something he would have wanted, but not a complete loss, after all. He had yet to have had a woman who had completely 'blunted the peach,' as they said, and while the effect was a bit odd to his eyes, it certainly was worth _trying._

She stepped out of the bath, grasping her wand and a towel off the hanging rack as she did so, and wrinkled her nose at the water behind her. She flicked her wand and vanished the contents of the bath with a shudder, not even bothering to unplug and drain it.

Severus cleared his throat, and grasped his own towel, wrapping it about himself. "It is my proposal that we attire ourselves and take lunch at Hogwarts, and never, _never_ speak of this incident to anyone." His eyes narrowed. "Ever. Is that clear?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I think that is an excellent decision." She slanted a look at him askance. "I'm frankly just pleased that you haven't decided to never speak to me again at all."

Severus felt his cheeks burn slightly and stomped back into her bedroom, viciously biting back an oath. He yanked his clothes on as quickly as he was able, shifting a little uncomfortably at the new and odd sensation of being utterly hairless. Briefly, he wondered if she hadn't perhaps done it on purpose, either to humiliate him or to simply impose her preference of lack of body hair. Had she been a Slytherin he would not have doubted it in the least.

He had to admit, however, that she did seem to be sincerely chagrined, and she had given him far worse ammunition to taunt her with had she done it to embarrass him. He sneered at his boots as he buttoned his shirt, tucking it into his trousers with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Her chagrin wouldn't save her, he assured himself.

He might not be able to take house points or assign her detention any longer, but somehow, he would get her back. She was now entirely bare as well; perhaps he could tease her there until she screamed his name a number of times, and was never able to use that bloody depilatory or have a man's head between her thighs without thinking of him. Hell, he was probably already half-way there. The thought stopped him cold. This was not supposed to be about imprinting himself on her, on making her want him; miss him when he was gone. The thought put him in a sour mood, and robes on at last, he turned with an impressive swirl to look at her.

She was quietly dressing behind him, watching him apprehensively, her lip caught between her teeth again. She released it when she saw him, and said softly, "I really didn't mean for that to happen."

He found himself nodding curtly. "Come then, you wanted to see my research, did you not?" Relief spilled into those lovely brown eyes, and she nodded, a touch too eagerly. He swept through her Floo to his living room and into his lab, keeping his pace just a hair too rapid for her to follow comfortably, enjoying the knowledge that she was forced to walk hurriedly in order to keep up.

When they entered his private lab, he turned to observe her reaction with more than a little pride. Here, there was no shame or embarrassment to be found in being him; here, he was honoured and it was apparent. His private workspace boasted expensive, state-of-the art equipment, including even a Muggle refracting microscope, a full island counter and sink clearly set aside for the specific purpose of component preparation, and enough counter and work space for his notes to sprawl as haphazardly as he might wish.

His ill-favoured appearance and lack of charm made no difference in this room; here he was a brilliant Master Class Potion Brewer, with Journeyman's papers in Herbology as well. He was a laureate of both the Order of Merlin and the Swanither Award for Potions and Alchemy, both of which hung neatly on the wall under his educational certificates, and three approved patent papers posted as well.

Hermione had immediately wandered over to the one cauldron that was currently in place on a burner, peering inside expectantly. He had set it on so low it was barely simmering, something it needed to do for a week to be at the right consistency; or so he hypothesized. He joined her silently, watching as she read his scribbled notes and peered into the cauldron occasionally, as if she could see the work he had put into this particular brew.

Finally she turned, and gave him a sheepish look. "I'm afraid I don't really understand what you are doing with this one. It looks like a strengthening solution that I started and Neville is trying to finish. It has been a couple of years since I have really studied potions, however."

He felt his lips twitch; clearly it rankled her that she didn't immediately pick up on what his seemingly random alterations had done to the potion, despite her lack of secondary training in the field. She was an Arithmancer after all, not a Potioneer. Perhaps it was being at Hogwarts that made her feel the need to know and understand everything she came across.

"This isn't the final product, so to speak," he answered her casually. "Well, it might be considered as such in its own right, but it is not the final product I am aiming for. I am attempting to adapt a strengthening solution in such a way so that it becomes the component itself. I am positing that, if successful, I will be able to then add it to strengthen or lengthen the effects of another brew. For example, _Wolfsbane_ or _Felix Felicis._

Her mouth parted in surprised wonder, the edges curling up. "Both of those potions are time consuming to create, while a base strengthening solution is time sensitive; does that lower the shelf life or…?"

Pleased she had caught that, he responded with pride, "Not if one also includes phoenix ash."

Her eyes widened slightly as she mentally ran through it, and then said tentatively, "What keeps the base from gumming up or reacting against the troll tears in the strengthening base?"

Severus found himself actually smiling and answered, "Oh, _very_ good, Hermione. It just so happens that this isn't the only potion I plan on using as a component in this particular brew. There are a total of three—it's a bit complex." He gestured at one of the tables, where several pages of notes were scattered about for brewing, including an intense arithmantical matrix and several alchemical diagrams.

He was gratified to see her expression was a bit overwhelmed as she surveyed his work. It had taken him the better part of two years to work it all out and he highly doubted even her vaunted intelligence would be able to pick it up in only a few moments. He could almost see the wheels and cogs of her mind turning as she picked up and studied the arithmantic equation, no doubt drawn to what she would be most likely to decipher.

"I—I don't understand everything you are doing with this, but what I am seeing is…" She set the page down carefully and turned to him, excitement and respect warring in her gaze. "This is _bloody brilliant!"_ She launched herself at him, then; he had only a moment to realise and brace for the impact before his arms were suddenly full of young, excited woman, slanting her mouth up to his in an enthusiastic display of ardour.

His arms closed about her as if by route, lifting her firmly against him in order to take advantage of her mouth more thoroughly. She did not seem to mind in the least, moulding herself to him and winding her arms about his neck. Hermione Granger, he thought smugly, was clearly a woman who appreciated a man of intelligence.

He got so caught up in her kisses that he hardly realised what she was doing before she had half his coat open, her fingers quickly making work of the release on his robes and the line of buttons on his coat. She had seemed shy of initiating their contact until this moment; it was like balm on his ego—particularly after the embarrassing bathroom incident—to have her so obviously desire him.

"I have an experiment," he told her between hungry kisses and divesting each other of clothes. "Something I would really like to try, but you might not find comfortable. Are you willing to give it a try, if I promise to listen to you if you tell me to slow down?" He whispered it in her ear, lowering his voice until it reached the low timbre that he had found most effective in eliciting a reaction in her.

She paused in pressing sucking kisses to his throat and shoulder in order to murmur a breathy, "Yes," her eyes glazed and only slightly wary. Carefully, he manoeuvred them to the far end of the lab, and to one of the few spans of empty wall in the room. The area was small, bracketed on one side by the door to his private storeroom and on the other by a preparatory table, currently only holding a few books.

When her back hit the wall, her eyes widened with a start, but she didn't say anything or push him away. Slowly, deliberately, he clasped her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and slowly raised them from his shoulders to press them back against the wall above her head. Her position now closely mimicked what she had described as being a trigger for her, merely being upright rather than supine. Her breath shuddered slightly, and she whispered, almost as if ashamed, "Yellow?"

He eased his hold on her and drew back slightly, giving her space, but leaving their hands in place. "I had wondered if it would make a difference if you were standing or not," he said quietly.

"It does," she answered, her eyes opening. "The idea of it is frightening, but I…I am not actually panicking. I can still think about it, control it. I can remember that this is you, and you will not hurt me."

"You are certain?"

"Yes. I _know_ you will not."

Humour tinged his gaze and he said, "I meant are you certain you wish to continue?"

"Kiss me please? I have a much more difficult time thinking about it when you kiss me."

He felt his lips twitch again; she seemed to possess an innate ability to make him smile, now that she had grown out of being thoroughly annoying. He remembered her accident with the depilatory, and sneered slightly. She had _almost_ grown out of being annoying, he amended, and then did as she asked, lowering his mouth back to hers.

They kissed like that for a long time, her back against his lab wall, her hands caught loosely in his above her head, until her fingers tugged in his, silently requesting release. He let them go, only to feel them thread through his still-damp hair and scrape against his scalp, one leg curling around his to pull him closer to her.

"You're so warm," she muttered. "Deliciously warm, and so bloody smart. I could spend hours doing just this, picking your brain and making love in turns. How do you do it to me?"

"My theory is that you've gone mad. I intend to call St Mungos when we're finished. Or you may be under the influence of a controlled substance. What exactly is going on in that head of yours?"

Swollen lips—he never _had_ used the depilatory on his face, he realised—smiled at him wickedly. "I did promise to suck you off, after all."

"Start there," he managed as her fingers started tugging at his belt. "I mean to have you on my lab table before we're done in here."

Her laugh was oddly delighted as she dropped to the floor in front of him, tugging down his trousers as she went.

* * *

_A/N: Hee hee, more smut to follow soon. :-D Thanks so much for reading! I'm back from Maui, and had a lovely time! I got to see my grandmother, meet some turtles, and indulge in a trashy romance novel reading binge! Just a reminder, the War of the Words challenge I've issued on TMB is half over-it's not too late to jump in and enjoy the fun! _


	5. Part Five

**Summary: **When Hermione decides she can no longer live with the mental scarring wrought by her vicious assault at Malfoy Manor, she enlists the aid of her former Potions professor in exchange for holding his life debt fulfilled... a very lemony tale written for the SSHG Prompt Fest 2013based on a prompt by Shiv5468. It is complete in six parts.

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy

**Warnings:** This story is Alternate Universe (AU) and is rated MA. It is _not _suitable for children under eighteen. It contains strong language, violence, lemons (graphic depiction of sex), light bondage, and a ménage a trois involving Malfoy Sr.

**Thank You:** To the usual suspects driven mad in my quest to complete this in two months, Jenidralph, ThornedHuntress, and Nathaniel Cardeu. A warm and wonderful heartfelt thank-you to Shiv5468 for giving me an awesome prompt to play with, and the incomparable SusanMarieR, who has once again made the feeling of the story come to life in the beautiful banner. A special thank you also to Songquake for helping me with some Latin, and Savva, for letting me pick her brain about Eastern European names and spellings.

**The Original Prompt: **Hermione can't have sex in the missionary position because it gives her flashbacks to Malfoy Manor. Ron just can't let a women be on top. Enter Severus, a man keen to pay back his life debt to Hermione for saving her... (and Lucius, a man looking for forgivenes, if you'd like to add him)

* * *

**GETTING PAST BROKEN  
****By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Part Five:**

Still smiling, Hermione drew her tongue in a line up the underside of his cock and then licked a slow circle around the head of it, teasing him. He grunted slightly, tilting his hips toward her in silent demand, and she let out a low laugh. She wrapped a hand around his base gently, and he demanded, "Harder. You are not going to hurt me, Hermione."

She tightened her grip slightly, but still didn't suck him into her mouth the way she knew he was waiting for. She had put off Ron for the last month or so this way, and liked to think she had gotten fairly good at it. She wanted to drive him as close to insane as humanly possible. So instead, she continued to draw the flat of her tongue up his length, licking it like a lolly, so close, and yet so far from what he actually wanted.

"Hermione," he drew her name out in a hissed breath, and she smiled in response, before closing her mouth over him, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock and sucking strongly. She drew him in further and gave a calculated moan, remembering how the same action had always driven Ron a bit mad. She twisted the hand still gripping his base, and rotated her head the opposite way, hollowing her cheeks as she slowly drew back up his shaft.

Severus swore softly above her, his fingers plunging into her hair, twining into fists to grip it as she began to slowly bob up and down on his cock, her hand twisting, her mouth wet and moaning. She loosened her jaw slightly, attempting to take more of him at the same time that he pumped his hips slightly, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged slightly, and pulled off him long enough to say, slightly apologetically, "I haven't figured out how to deep throat yet, I've always gagged when he tried."

His grip loosened on her hair immediately, and his body stilled, rigid. "Go at whatever pace you need, I'll control myself better, just _please,_ don't bloody stop, or mention that wanker again." His eyes burned down at her, and then closed briefly when she sucked him gently into her mouth again. "Do you have any idea what it does to me, the sight of you like this?"

His eyes glittered as he traced her upper lip, lingering where it sealed around him. His hand trembled slightly, as it lifted back to her hair. Hermione swallowed, her mouth tightening on him, and felt his thigh tighten under her free hand. For the first time doing this, she didn't feel like it was a chore, a lesser evil to have to tolerate. A feeling of power blossomed low in her—she might be the one on her knees, but Severus was the one putting himself at her mercy.

Experimentally, she leaned forward again, sucking strongly, pumping her hand as she drew him as deep into her mouth as she could. He was thick, hot and smooth, gliding in and out of her mouth, tasting of salt and man.

He groaned loudly, the sound sending shivers down her spine and prompting a response from her. His eyes were glazed as she picked up her rhythm, lifting her free hand to roll his balls between her fingers. He was utterly smooth—completely hairless from their bathing accident, and while the texture was a bit strange, it was also rather nice.

She _did_ rather miss the little trail from his navel, though. On that thought, she released his cock with a small pop, and gave him a sly look. Feeling rather deliciously naughty, Hermione ran her tongue from the crown of his erection to the base, and then up the invisible line where that little trail had been. She lingered briefly, circling his navel once, and then retraced her line back downward.

"Her_mi_one." He grunted.

"I'm going to take advantage of your current state," she said, and proceeded to suck one of his balls into her mouth, rolling it a little as she did so.

_"FUCK."_ He burst out, not expecting it, his fingers tightening into fists in her hair again.

She released him, and repeated the process on the other side, only letting go in order to kiss her way up his cock and lick it into her mouth again. It was a heady, dizzying feeling to have Severus Snape clearly so affected from what she did—he seemed to be getting more and more restless, closer to the edge of being unable to hold himself back from pumping into her mouth. She continued for several minutes, relishing the hot slide of him over her tongue, the way he grunted slightly whenever she moaned. After several minutes, she released him and stood, shrugging out of her clothes as she did so and enjoying the way his eyes devoured her. She felt beautiful under his gaze, beautiful and unashamed in a way she had never thought was possible, especially after her scarring.

"You said you wanted me on your lab table before you were done with me, as I recall?" she baited him, watching his eyes flare in response. He closed them briefly and took two deep breathes, clearly attempting to collect himself. When they opened again, he appeared to have banked his desire, though it was still evident.

He reached out for her and pulled her to him, drawing her arms up around his neck, and for a moment their eyes caught and held. She had expected him to kiss her forcefully, with the same burning fire that he had used the day previously. Instead he halted, and for a minute Hermione fancied she could fall into his eyes, and he into hers, like they were both poised on the edge of a dock, on a deep and bottomless lake.

Hermione let out the barest of sighs and let herself fall into his kiss, into him. It was encompassing and rich—the sort of kiss she might have daydreamed about as a young girl, before the practicality of war had forced her to turn off such thoughts. Her mind swirled with something she couldn't adequately decipher; a sense of urgent lust and longing that felt both fiercely right and somehow sad. It was like being part of a fantastical dream she had always hungered for and yet knew would end.

He broke off their kiss, and stared at her intensely. She could almost see her thoughts echoed in his eyes, leaving her to wonder if he hadn't just used Legilimency on her. She found herself desperately wanting to ask, but unwilling to shatter the magnitude of the moment. His hands stroked down her back softly, almost reverently, halting to clasp the curves of her rear. He lifted her, fitting her more thoroughly against him, and turned to set her on the table.

She felt decadent, naked as she was while he was still chiefly clothed; yet oddly cherished. The memory of him filling her, gliding hotly between her thighs and her lips, made her burn. She wanted it again; it was utterly undeniable. She wanted this man inside her again, without any fear or anxiety. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of his coat, and she whispered, "Is it always like this?"

He hesitated slightly, and then shook his head. "Lean into my hands, Hermione. I'm going to lay you back, but not hold you down."

Something blossomed and loosened in her chest even as she felt her smile widen on her face. She leaned back in his arms, allowing him to carefully lower her to the cool, granite-topped table. He arched a devilish eyebrow at her, and used one hand to lift one of her legs to rest on his shoulder, even as guided himself to her entrance with the other.

He had entered her previously with such sudden and rapid force; it had completely caught her off guard. They had been mutually caught up in desire and sensation, at the time, thoroughly lost to each other. He took his time, now, thrusting forward with brain-melting languidness. The odd angle made her feel constricted, made _him_ feel larger, longer, and Hermione felt as if her body had to almost struggle to accept him this way.

His head turned minutely to where his right hand held her calf firmly in place on his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss into the arch of her foot. His left hand slid up the thigh of the leg that still dangled over the end of the table to caress her softly, drawing a long moan and subtle arching of her back. All the while he continued to press slowly—ever so slowly!—inside her. He was attempting to drive her as mad as he had claimed she was; there was really no other explanation.

She attempted to spread her legs wider, tried to urge him to move faster, but he held her firmly in place. "Patience, Hermione…I'm trying to pace us."

"I don't _want_ slow!" She whined, and was pleased to see him smile in response. He looked fascinatingly disheveled above her, more so than he had naked. He was still wearing his coat, though it hung open on his lean frame, and his starched shirt was unbuttoned several centimetres. Coupled with his long hair and crooked, smirking smile, he was the very picture of debauchery.

Over the course of the next twenty or so minutes he drove her to a slow, screaming climax, his long fingers stroking her torso, rolling her nipples and then drawing back down to thumb her clitoris. He didn't pick up speed until the very end, when he came just a hairsbreadth before she did, his fingers insistently dancing and pressing her overly sensitized centre.

She lay panting on the table for several long moments, watching while he carefully lowered her leg off his shoulder and summoned a damp cloth from the sink on the opposite side of the table. She blushed as he cleaned them both, and then grasped her hand to pull her back into an upright position.

"That was…extremely enjoyable," he stated, his pleased smirk still in place.

Hermione grinned back, and then grimaced as she felt her hair, trying to pat down the tangled curls unsuccessfully.

"Leave it," he told her, bending to pick up her clothes and set them on the table next to her.

"It must look a complete mess," she protested.

He still had apparently not learned the Very Important Lesson, because his expression was rather smugly pleased with himself as he responded, "Yes, it is. I rather like it; this time you're a mess _I've_ made."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat again and she hurriedly drew her knickers on, sliding off the table in order to get them the rest of the way on. Despite his gentle cleaning of her, her thighs still felt damp and slightly sticky, and she suddenly went pale as realisation struck. "Severus! I haven't taken any contraceptives, or used the charm!"

He gave her a disgruntled look. "First of all, I should hope you are not ever using the charm, as it is far less effective than the potion, and its duration is unpredictable at best. Secondly," He glared when she opened her mouth to protest that it was still better than _nothing,_ and continued firmly over the top of her. _"Secondly,_ you must always remember to take the potion, Hermione. You cannot rely on your partner to always be responsible. Or have your best interests at heart."

"I know, truly I do; I'm usually so careful, even when I'm _not_ having sex," she said miserably, continuing to dress.

_"That being said,"_ he peered down his large nose at her, buttoning his own coat nimbly, "I _am_ an extremely cautious individual, and in this particular instance, you need not worry. I brewed and took a monthly potion yesterday before arriving at your home, just in case."

Relief flooded her and she gave him a grateful smile. "Thank Merlin," she breathed. He snorted eloquently and gestured to the door leading to his sitting room. Hermione cast a longing look back at the table of notes on the far end of the room next to the simmering cauldron. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "May I help you?"

Both of his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline in shock, and he asked incredulously, "Hermione, what help do you think you could be in this?" He seemed to check himself, noticing the indignant expression spreading over her face, before continuing, "I have no intention of belittling your talents, but even you said you did not understand what I was doing over there. You never continued your Potions education beyond Hogwarts, and this compound is of a Mastery level!"

Hermione pressed her lips together and tilted her chin at him mutinously. "If you do not want my help, that is certainly your prerogative, I am well aware that Potionery is not my specialty. However, you should consider the fact that while Potionery is not, Arithmancy _is."_ She took a deep breath and forged ahead, not willing to give him the chance to object before she finished. "At the level you are brewing, with the complication of the compound, you _need_ Arithmancy. The possible combinations and order of the components, the timing, the number of stirs, and the level of heat—all the possibilities increase exponentially.

"You are free to turn down my offer, of course, but I _am_ one of the most prominent Arithmancers in the Ministry, and I think what you are doing is fascinating. I would love to run the magical equations for you in order to come to more precise measurements for everything." She stopped to study his expression, and then added softly, "I'm not asking to share credit, and it's certainly not contingent on anything. It's just…far more interesting than anything that the Ministry has given me to do. They are only interested population and opinion statistics."

His expression was unreadable for a long moment, then he finally grimaced, and muttered, "I hate Arithmancy, there is no art to it. Come along then, I'll explain in more detail."

Excited and pleased, Hermione followed him back over to his notes and bent over the table with him, listening intently as he broke down the three major bases of his compound and explained them each to her in painstaking detail. He had far more patience with her in regards to his own work than he had ever shown as an instructor in class, she thought amusedly.

She retreated to the far end of the room again so as not to interfere with his workspace, and they worked in near silence for several hours, eating lunch at their workspaces, only breaking for a few minutes of stretching at a time, and for supper. They had eaten lunch at their respective counters; served by a house elf with huge yellow bow above one ear. She had given Hermione a wide-eyed look, and then Disapparated with a crack that had made even Severus start and glance about irritably, before returning to his work.

He had left his robes, abandoned at her end of the room, where she had initially unclasped them, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He looked very much like he had in the garden—had it really only been three days ago? He, for the most part, spent the time reading and looking up various things in books and scribbling more notes, frowning at them in fierce concentration. It was nearing nine in the evening when he suddenly stood and stretched again, arching his back and cracking it several ways.

"Break time?" she asked again, mildly.

He started and whirled to look at her, surprised etched on his face. "Some bloody spy I am," he grumbled, then more loudly, "I was actually going to call it an evening—go read a bit, perhaps."

Hermione felt herself involuntarily smile. "You forgot I was here."

He scowled. "I got a bit caught up. I didn't expect you to stay this late."

Still smiling at him, she demurred, "I didn't mind in the least. As I said, I find this all incredibly fascinating; I'm nearly through the first half of the equation for the first base."

"What of your job at the Ministry?" he challenged. "Didn't you have to go in today?"

Hermione laughed. "Severus, it's Sunday. What's more than that, I've requested the next week off after that rather horrid Friday."

"That was rather abominably short notice," he groused, his words clipped and snippy.

Hermione tilted her head at him, her smile fading, and said softly, "I was a bit overdue for one. I haven't taken once since I started, and rarely take full weekends. Is this your way of telling me that you would like me to leave?"

His face became passive again. "You are, of course, welcome to stay if it pleases you. I believe my library had interested you as well? Or if you would feel more comfortable taking the next day or so to yourself…"

"If that is an invitation to stay the evening, I would like that," she said shyly. "If I'm not intruding? We can resume work tomorrow?"

He blinked; an expression of clear shock for him. "You are still interested in continuing?"

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and grit, "Severus. I've told you I find this interesting and enjoyable work. You knew me as a student; do you really think I'm lying about that?"

Humour lit his eyes briefly and he remarked dryly, "I had forgotten your enthusiasm for all things academic; I am unused to anyone working for such long stretches of time as I do." He hesitated, and then said, "If it is truly your wish to stay the night and work with me again tomorrow, you may." Then, after another slight pause, he warned, "I get up early."

Hermione gave him the brightest smile she had, and leaned up to give him a hard kiss. "I find that very agreeable."

He looked at her, seemingly confused, and then nodded perfunctorily. When he sat down on his favourite side of the couch, she curled up on the opposite side, _Earth Made of Glass,_ in her lap. She hadn't gotten to read when it had first been published, and had been both surprised and slightly pleased to find it in his shelves.

He glanced at her choice and said caustically, "I hadn't thought you were interested in science fiction at all; what made you pick that out of all the books I have? I would have laid money down that you would have chosen one of my more obscure texts."

Hermione lifted her own brows in amused parody of his own expression, and responded, "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not _always_ reading dry, academic treatises or scrolls in Old English."

"Yes, sometimes they're in Old Norse," he fired back dryly.

"They are not—well, almost nev—Severus!" she cried.

"Well you have to admit, it isn't in keeping with the Hermione Granger who was my student."

"Sure it is," she retorted, sarcastically, "I have always had varied tastes in literature. I was simply more focused on academic books during day-time hours whilst I lived here, because, oddly enough, I was in school." She gave him a superior look and pointed out, "Why else would I choose to read this, if I hadn't already read _A Million Open Doors?"_

"The sight of you reading a novel just strikes me as odd, that's all." He tilted his head curiously. "When _did_ you read the first one?"

Hermione found herself shrugging uneasily. "My third year. The underlying theme resonated."

Severus snorted in apparent good humour. "I imagine it did." He turned back to his own book at that point—what appeared to be a biography of someone Hermione hadn't actually heard of. After trying to surreptitiously read the back of the book for a summary and failing when she realised that there was only a snooty looking picture of the author there, she resolved to look the subject of the book up later. They settled into their respective reading materials for the next hour and half, adopting the same companionable silence they had worked in.

It was incredibly odd to slip into a bed not her own; Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Severus had felt the same way when sleeping in hers. It was slightly different, she thought—they had gone to "nap" following the rather energetic sex that had worn them both out and had not awoken until the next morning. This was pre-meditated sleeping in the same bed for the full night. Feeling slightly nervous and a little shy, Hermione curled up next to him, wrapping an arm about his waist and snuggling into his side. He seemed uncertain what to do at first, before finally drawing her more firmly against him. Pleased, Hermione sighed and linked a foot over his calf, enjoying the feel of his skin, slowly rubbing it up and down.

"Hermione," his voice was a bit stiff, and it halted her movements abruptly. "I am not an adolescent any longer, and I'm afraid I am actually a bit too tired for more right now—perhaps you might be able to prevail upon me for such strenuous activities in the morning?"

Hermione stifled a giggle in his shoulder and answered with a muffled, "I wasn't actually asking…I honestly was just enjoying the feel of you. Say what you will about it, your legs actually do feel really nice and silky smooth."

He growled inarticulately in the dark. "It looks ridiculous."

"A bit," she admitted. "You can always use a hair-growth lotion," she offered, tongue in cheek.

"I am _not_ going to slather my legs and groin with hair-growth solution!" he snapped. "Founders only know what might happen. With my luck it would be horrific and braid-able."

Hermione couldn't stifle her laughter at that point.

"Troublesome, insufferable girl," he groused.

"Woman, Severus. I am very much a woman," she corrected and then pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. Attempting to placate him, she added, "One who is very pleased to have such a man as you in her bed, with hairy legs or not."

He waited a beat, then sniffed, "You're in _my_ bed."

Hermione smiled against him in the dark. "So I am."

Their days bled into each other over the next week; a mixture of dry humour and work interspersed with bouts of glorious sex. Despite what he had claimed their second night together, he was able and willing to engage in "strenuous activities" on a fairly regular basis—often twice or even three times a day. After the first such day, Hermione actually found herself fairly sore, unused to such activity as she was. He had merely shrugged at her when she mentioned it, a wicked light in his eyes. She had discovered that his chin stubble was not entirely a bad thing in all circumstances.

He had procured a book from somewhere on erotic massage, and they took turns with it, finally ending with him straddling her hips and fucking her from behind until she screamed into the soft rug in front of his fire. There hadn't been a nicer word for their frenzied coupling—_fucking_ had been the only one she could think of that could fit the situation. She had tried it herself the following morning, riding him hard in his bed, learning to use her thigh muscles where he had guided her before, and giggling that it was far easier to keep purchase there than on her couch.

They invaded the prefects' bathroom on the sixth day and she had sat in his lap facing outward, her head resting back against his shoulder, her legs on either side of his. He had spread his thighs wide, and thus hers, and then teased her with his fingers until she begged him for release. When he denied her, their bath turned into a rather surprisingly juvenile water and bubble fight, followed by a long intense session by the side of the bath on a pile of towels.

When they had retired back to his rooms afterwards, she had shyly asked if he would mind if she extended her leave from work another week. Following that, she had said, she would be able to work with him in the evenings and the weekends, if it suited him.

He had autocratically informed her that she had volunteered to help with arithmantic equations that were less than half done, and that he fully expected her to either complete the task, or have the grace to inform him forthwith. Her boss at the Ministry had grumbled and given her scathing looks at her request, but since she was entitled to two weeks of vacation time every year (and she had not taken any in the last two) , he was unable to deny her request. Severus had not smiled when she had informed him that the extra week had been granted, but his eyes had lit softly, and she got the distinct impression that he was pleased.

Of course, they agreed, it hardly made sense for her to Floo home in the evenings, she might as well pack a small bag of things for the future; she had already brought over several of her toiletries and changes of clothes. When the house elves had laundered them and hung them in his closet instead of leaving them where she might pack them away again, neither bothered to mention it.

She had resumed her weekly teas with Minerva on the two Thursdays she had spent in Severus' company, and once again the Headmistress offered her the Transfiguration post. Hermione declined once more, protesting that it wasn't really her field, as she usually did. Minerva had given her now standard pish-and-tosh speech, reminding her of how very apt she had been in school, and then offered her the Arithmancy position instead. Professor Vector, she claimed, was able and willing to switch to teaching Transfiguration, if Minerva could find someone suitable to teach Arithmancy.

Hermione laughed it off, but wondered. If she were to stay and join the staff, would Severus find it awkward to live in the same castle as a former lover? Or might he, just perhaps, be as interested as she was in the idea that they might be able to carry on for the foreseeable future? The idea was awfully tempting, particularly as it became more and more clear that it really _was_ time for a career change.

In the mere two weeks they had more or less cohabited, they had slid into a comfortable pattern of companionship and sex; she desperately tried to ignore that his reasons were self-serving, and he seemed content enough to never bring the subject up. She told him stories about her childhood before discovering her magical capabilities, and after several days, managed to coax one out of him as well. It was a small thing, but it made her feel full to bursting that he had trusted her with it.

There were problems, of course. She would routinely fall asleep curled up into him, only to find that he had rolled away in the middle of the night. He groused that she tried to steal pillows and left her stockings on his floor, she griped that he always left the loo lid upright and never capped the toothpaste. There were moments when they both attempted to use the same counter space and would indulge in a glaring match, and moments when she would accuse him of moving something of hers, only to have him summarily blame the house elves.

He would wake up extraordinarily early—the morning she had found him in the gardens finishing up work there at half five turned out to be not unusual. Hermione, who never made it out of bed before nine unless forced, was not unsubtle in her vocal displeasure. He, in turn, found her penchant for thinking aloud when stumped on a problem endlessly annoying, and had even banished her from the lab to the sitting room once.

Despite all of this, Hermione rather thought that they viewed their respective sniping at each other as more of a game than true fighting; a verbal sparring that they both looked forward to as much as they were honestly annoyed by the inciting occurrences. They really were getting along extraordinarily well - she had worried that he would tire of her quickly and be eager to get rid of her. He hadn't had a roommate or a true relationship in years, after all. It helped that neither one of them was especially social or extroverted; life seemed to dwindle down to an ideal bubble encasing just the two of them.

Then it happened.

The Monday morning she was to return to work, he stirred first at his ungodly rising time of four in the morning, and had reached out across the bed space for her. It had become a sleepy morning routine for them over the last two weeks: he would rouse and pull her into him, rubbing a peremptory morning erection against her and dislodging her from her cocoon of sleep.

Hermione mumbled a protest, whining, "Why can't you sleep as late as the _first_ morning we woke up together?" He, as usual, paid her grumpiness no mind, his hands roving her body to pinch her nipples and slide between her thighs, seeking out her heat. She was slick but not really ready; she seemed to be in a constant state half-arousal lately. _It's like a Pavlovian response to being near him, perhaps,_ she thought dreamily, enjoying the warmth of him pressed against her.

He immediately set about to finishing the job of fully arousing her, rolling her onto her back and putting his mouth to work at her throat even as his fingers probed her tender flesh. It didn't take long before she was sighing in pleasure, her hips pressing back against his arousal, her fingers sleepily running over his skin to stroke him in turn.

He shifted on the bed between her thighs and pushed inside her with a rumbling hum, pumping easily. They had done this position before, him kneeling upright in the bed while she lay back; he was especially fond of pulling her hips up onto his thighs so that she was arched up, sometimes pulling her feet up to his shoulders or flat on his chest. This morning however, he seemed content to simply let her bend her knees to meet his thrusts. They were a bit stronger than usual in this position; rocking deeply and satisfyingly into her core.

Hermione took a deep happy breath, her eyes flying open when the tips of her breasts made contact with the soft texture of his chest hair. He was propped up on his elbows above her, his eyes closed and a sleepily smug half-smile on his face. He wasn't entirely alert, she realised, and like their first morning, he had simply moved on top of her instead of tugging her on top of him without even thinking about what he was doing.

Yet she didn't immediately flashback to that horrible night at the manor. Severus wasn't pinning her down by her wrists or chest, he wasn't using his weight to keep her from getting away, and yet he was still, undeniably, on top of her. The familiar planes and angles of his face were at ease, the ever-present line between his brows relaxed.

The furrow between his brows increased and he stilled when he suddenly realised she was no longer responding him, his eyes cracking open to ascertain what the problem was. She saw the instant it registered—the moment his sleep-fogged brain cleared enough to understand that she lay entirely beneath him. Self-loathing and shame registered in his expression and his muscles tensed, anticipating her panic.

He started to move off of her, but Hermione surprised herself by suddenly closing her own fingers into his back, digging her nails slightly into his shoulders. A very clear message to _wait._ He gazed down at her, still filling her, still half risen off of her.

"I…I am not scared. A little nervous, but I was fine until I realised." Hermione bit her lip and tilted her hips slightly, thrusting gently upwards. "Yellow? I mean, I don't want you to stop but can you just, you know, be careful?"

His eyes dilated, and he slowly lowered himself back onto his elbows, the tension between them heavy. "Say the word, and I'll—"

"I'm not." She cut him off, and pushed up again, sheathing him full inside her. "I trust you, and that you're not going to hurt me."

He groaned, the barest of sounds, and resumed his previous pace, a slow but deep stroking of her, his hips flexing rhythmically. "Wrap your legs around me," he urged, and with a soft breath, Hermione complied, running her knees up his thighs to hook around his waist. She was definitely in his power now, under his complete control, but she didn't once picture Greyback's face above her, didn't feel his brutal joy in her fear. She only felt Severus, her lover of the last two weeks, her unexpected friend, unravelling her tension and anxiety in strong, easy strokes.

"I want to replace your memory of it," he uttered lowly, so quiet she almost couldn't hear him. "I can't, not entirely, but that's what I want. I want you to be able to do this, like this, and think of me when you do, not him." His mouth turned down slightly, "and not the idiot either. I want your mind to default to me. Even later, when you lie in another man's arms, another man's bed, I want you to remember _me_ here. I don't give a damn if it's selfish."

Something inside her snapped at his words and she found herself moaning loudly in response, tightening her legs around his hips and snapping her own up to meet him. His breath hissed between his teeth loudly and responded in kind, driving into her harder. She tightened reflexively, whispering his name, enjoying the way his eyes darkened above her. Their gazes caught and held, their thoughts entangling and indistinguishable from each other as his barriers dropped and reached for hers.

_What if it's always going to be you? What if there can't be anyone after?_

_Not supposed to want this. Not this much; not when you're going to be done with me._

_Merlin you feel…_

_Like fire._

_Like life. Keep me._

_I'm worth it; I deserve it after everything. I deserve to have you._

"It's okay," she whispered, not entirely sure what she was responding to, or reassuring him of.

"Fuck." He swore loudly and shattered, flooding her with semen as he shuddered above her, leaving her behind. He very nearly didn't catch himself from dropping on top of her, rolling to the side at the last minute so that they lay side by side.

Hermione groaned and wriggled slightly as the sheets under her dampened. His hand scrubbed over his face briefly and he turned to look at her, the firm line of his mouth the only indication of his chagrin. She offered him a wry expression and answered his unspoken apology. "It's fine, really—I'm not certain I would have been able to, anyway. I was caught up in my thoughts a bit there."

"I can still…" he offered.

"No, no it's okay. I think it's better actually. I don't think that always has to be the point."

He huffed a low chuckle of laughter. "Mad. Such a waste."

"But clearly, it's possible for me. Perhaps not today, but in the future, with time, it's not out of the realm of possibility."

"Yes," he responded, his gaze shifting to look at the ceiling. "Clearly." They waited a beat in awkward silence and then he flexed into a sitting position, jostling the bed as he left it to stand. He didn't quite stomp into the bathroom, his footfalls heavy and foreboding as if he were upset. The door closed with a firm click that was a clear message he preferred to be alone.

Feeling slightly miserable, and unwilling to contemplate why, Hermione sat up as well, glancing over at the clock on his bedroom wall. It was barely fifteen past, far too early to really be up and about. There was no way she would be able to return to sleep, however, not after that.

Reluctantly, she climbed to her feet, wincing as she slid over the wet spot on the sheets between her thighs. She dressed slowly, uncertain if she wanted to face Severus, but feeling like it would be cowardly to leave first.

He had been inside her head. He knew she was getting…unhealthily attached to him. Was shutting himself in the bathroom his way of informing her that she should leave? He had very definitely fulfilled his terms of the bargain. By rights she should release him from his oath. It was possible he already was—as a magical debt, surely the pressure on him would automatically lift when fulfilled. Uncertain of herself, and of him, Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled with her skirt, waiting for him.

The door to the bathroom opened abruptly, and he re-emerged fully dressed, his damp hair the only indication that he was in any way disordered. They stared at each other and then she mumbled, "I have to work today; I should Floo home first and make sure I have everything I need."

He nodded shortly in response. "I need to check on my area of the garden."

"Of course," she agreed hastily.

He hesitated, then asked, almost reluctantly, "Will you be by this evening?"

What was he asking? Would she be by to pack her things? To work on his equations? To share his bed? She wasn't certain and didn't know how he wanted her to respond. "Yes," she said finally. For one reason or another, she would be coming back; let him make of the answer what he would and she might receive some sort of sign of what _he_ wanted.

Of course, he was Severus Snape, and his expression didn't change in the slightest at her response. He merely nodded again in his stoic way, and left, leaving her to sit in the room by herself. Miserable, Hermione waited several minutes, desperately trying to convince herself she had no reason to cry, before finally Flooing home.

She couldn't concentrate on work all day; her mind was conspicuously absent, fixed back on Hogwarts, on him. She was given several frowning looks throughout the day, from both her co-workers and her boss, as she allowed first one, then more errors to occur in her work, skewing her calculations and forcing her to restart. She both dreaded and looked forward to the end of the day when she would see him again.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the hours ticked away until she was under no obligation to stay at the Ministry any longer. In previous months she had often stayed later than she had needed to, but now she found herself wondering if it had really been out of misguided loyalty to her job, or out of the desire to avoid seeing her boyfriend. Certainly it wasn't because the work was so consuming.

She enjoyed arithmancy—the way the numbers always eventually ended up at a conclusion, no matter how complicated the arithmetic or the numerological variants. She glared at her desk and perversely wished there were a way to use arithmancy to decide how to handle her situation with Severus. One of the first rules of magic was the inability to predict human emotion, however. There was simply no way to account for it—no magic rune, hieroglyph or number to enter that would draw the right conclusion, to show her the right path.

_What do I_ want _from him? What do I_ want _to have happen?_ She forced herself to face the questions head on, and after a moment of struggling with her thoughts, was forced to admit that she wanted him to ask her to continue as his lover. She didn't want to return to her lonely life and boring job and fear that she wouldn't be able to ever recapture the same feeling that she had found in his arms.

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione gathered her bag and headed for one of the Floo entrances in the Ministry Atrium. When it was her turn to use it, she hesitated, trying to decide where to go, until she noticed the witch behind her tapping a foot impatiently. Before she could think about it any further, she Flooed to his sitting room, thankful that it was still open and the wards keyed for her arrival.

She found him in his lab, looking at her three dimensional matrix with a slight frown on his face. His head tilted in acknowledgement of her, and his finger jabbed at a section. "This looks a lot more complicated than it has to be, and it doesn't look quite right. It's not smoothing out the way it should."

Hermione blinked, then said uncertainly, "It's the most simplistic form your compound can take—it's off because I'm still missing variables. See here," she pointed at a complicated string of numbers and runes. "This section is the basic strengthening base, and each cross point," she wagged a finger at the myriad of dividing subsections, "is how it reacts to each of the individual components of the stasis base that you are trying to use to stabilize."

"You mean this is the _entire_ compound?" he asked, shocked.

"Yes, of course." She shook her head and amended, "Well, it's as much of it as you've been able to work out. As you pointed out, it's not evening out because you are still working on integrating the bases, and are not certain of what components I should add. It's currently suggesting something in the _draconis_ or _cerastes_ family might be of use—but I don't have your expertise to narrow it down further at this point."

"Not blood," he murmured, "tears perhaps…or hydra scale." He grabbed a pad of paper and began to furiously short hand notes, ignoring her presence entirely.

Hermione felt her mouth drop open. Clearly, he had not been plagued with doubts as she had. She felt like stamping her foot childishly and only barely restrained herself, finally settling on saying loudly, "Severus!"

His head shot up and his wary expression told her he knew exactly what she was trying to resolve. His hand tightened on his quill and a large blob of ink dripped on to his parchment. He took a deep breath, and Hermione's heart froze. She just _knew_ he was going to ask her to leave, and only return in order to help with his research, if at all.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "What if you're the only one who can make me feel that way?"

To her horror, it spilled out at the same time as his quiet, "Did you have plans to stay this evening?"

They both froze, staring at each other, and he said stiltedly, "How is it that you would like me to test the theory? Polyjuice, perhaps?" His jaw tightened, and he added, "I have role-played with that before. It would not be the first time a woman has requested that I look like someone else."

"She was an idiot, whoever she was," Hermione heard herself retort, and then bit her lip.

His brows shot up, but he quickly recovered his impassive expression and said neutrally, "You are not under obligation to ask my permission to sleep with someone else."

Hermione gave a frustrated moan and sat down, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. I'm terrified of trying with anyone else and I wish you could be there, because I _trust_ you, but that's insane. So maybe the Polyjuice idea is not such an awful idea. But would that even work if I know that underneath whoever you're wearing, you're you?"

His eyes flashed impatiently and he snapped at her, "Well, maybe insane or not that's what you should do! Take some pretty, muscle-bound lover with a penchant for being watched and fuck him in front of me. Or better yet, we'll share! If we can make you enjoy that, then I'm sure you'll have no trouble prancing off into the sunset. Either way, you should make up your mind about what you want!"

Hermione's temper blazed in response, and before she could bite the words back, she yelled, "Maybe I should! In fact, let's do that! Do you have anyone specific in mind, or shall I take out an advertisement in the _Prophet?"_

"Certainly! As long as we're discussing inviting people along, why don't you? Or better yet, owl the Malfoys! I have it on good authority that either one is willing to bed you for the greater good!" His cheeks were actually red with fury, she noticed, the colour staining his pale face as if she had slapped him.

In contrast, Hermione felt her blood drain, and she stared at him for a long moment, letting his words sink in. "How would the Malfoys, either one, come to make such a statement?" she finally whispered, stricken.

His face immediately closed off and he said stiffly, "As you are aware, I did not immediately agree to our arrangement. Lucius is a long-time friend and close companion of mine; I sought his opinion when I began to second guess my decision."

Hermione felt her eyes prick with humiliated tears. "You discussed my…problem with him? Severus, how could you?"

The man sighed and sat, then said, resigned, "I wanted his opinion; I value his thoughts a great deal. He has been my appointed mentor since I was eleven years old, and as such he has sworn to keep all of my confidences, Hermione. He would not have mentioned it to anyone, I swear it. He called me a fool for rejecting your proposal, and wondered aloud if you would accept himself in my stead. I asked him not to approach you."

Hermione blinked back her tears and said, unsteadily, "Really, Lucius Malfoy said that about me?"

Severus gave a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. "He baited me by saying he would have gone so far as to offer you marriage. He knew I wanted a reason to change my mind."

Hermione spluttered. "Marry him? I would never!"

"Would you not?" Severus' head jerked back up and his eyes met hers. "He's handsome, intelligent, well connected, and wealthy. He has never had any trouble attracting women. He has made mistakes, as have I, as have we all, but I assure you he is not fundamentally a bad man. You could do far worse for a husband than Lucius Malfoy."

"I don't want Lucius Malfoy as a husband. I am not certain I ever want a husband." Suddenly inspired, she added softly, "Nor would I want to come between the two of you, if you are as good friends as you say."

Severus' mouth pursed. "The lady who once asked me to use Polyjuice was Narcissa Malfoy. Many years ago, she requested of her husband that I join them, in his guise. She wanted to experience having two lovers at once, but didn't like the idea of adultery. Sharing a woman with Lucius was not…" he took a deep breath. "It _is_ not out of the realm of possibility, if it is needed." He glanced at her again, and then added irritably, "Close your mouth before you catch flies. I'm merely trying to ascertain and do what is best in the situation."

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, but was unable to keep herself from staring. Never in her _wildest_ imaginings had she ever suspected him to blatantly offer to share her with another man, with _Lucius Malfoy_ of all men! "You…you would arrange that? And you wouldn't leave me alone with him—you would be there the whole time?"

He didn't flicker an eyelash. "If you asked it of me, I would."

Hermione said faintly, "Can I think about it for a bit?"

His chin tilted fractionally in assent. "Are you planning to stay this evening?"

"You are not too angry with me?"

Severus sighed. "I am tired, Hermione. It's been a very long day. Are you coming or not?"

For the first time since their arrangement began, he held her to him the entire night.

* * *

_A/N: Only one more chapter to go! Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews-I am so sorry I've been behind responding to some of them; I've had a lot of personal things come up in the last few weeks and haven't spent a weekend home in the last three. I promise I will get to them! In the meantime, I hope you've been enjoying this so far!_


	6. Part Six

**Summary: **When Hermione decides she can no longer live with the mental scarring wrought by her vicious assault at Malfoy Manor, she enlists the aid of her former Potions professor in exchange for holding his life debt fulfilled... a very lemony tale written for the SSHG Prompt Fest 2013based on a prompt by Shiv5468. It is complete in six parts.

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy

**Warnings:** This story is Alternate Universe (AU) and is rated MA. It is _not _suitable for children under eighteen. It contains strong language, violence, lemons (graphic depiction of sex), light bondage, and a ménage a trois involving Malfoy Sr.

**Thank You:** To the usual suspects driven mad in my quest to complete this in two months, Jenidralph, ThornedHuntress, and Nathaniel Cardeu. A warm and wonderful heartfelt thank-you to Shiv5468 for giving me an awesome prompt to play with, and the incomparable SusanMarieR, who has once again made the feeling of the story come to life in the beautiful banner. A special thank you also to Songquake for helping me with some Latin, and Savva, for letting me pick her brain about Eastern European names and spellings.

**The Original Prompt: **Hermione can't have sex in the missionary position because it gives her flashbacks to Malfoy Manor. Ron just can't let a women be on top. Enter Severus, a man keen to pay back his life debt to Hermione for saving her... (and Lucius, a man looking for forgivenes, if you'd like to add him)

* * *

**GETTING PAST BROKEN  
****By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Part Five:**

Three weeks after his initial encounter with Hermione, Severus stepped from his bathroom, still wrapping his standard Hogwarts-issue towel around his hips, and felt half-way human. A decent mug of coffee and he might even consider himself fit for the company he had invited. It was odd to be waking so late—it made his whole world feel off kilter. _She_ made him feel off kilter.

"Why Severus, I had no idea you had such lovely legs. A bit pale, perhaps, but so smooth and…ah…feminine." The cultured, dry tone made him start and nearly drop his towel. The ramifications of _that_ would have been disastrous. Severus only barely contained a shudder at the thought.

Instead he scowled, and jerked his head toward one of the chairs and muttered, "I didn't expect you to respond to my note this early. I'll be out in a moment." With as much dignity as he could posses with only a towel and hairless legs, Severus headed into his bedroom to dress. When he emerged several minutes later, his friend was still not sitting, but staring at one of the tapestries on his wall with a wistful look on his face.

"This was one of Narcissa's favourites; she felt torn when she realised that it went well with how she was decorating your rooms." Lucius turned to face Severus and the barest hint of a smile crossed his face. "I don't think I ever thanked you for indulging her, in all of her mad requests. She was very fond of you, you know."

Severus snorted and sat, waving a hand at the other man to sit as well. "I never thought I had a choice. Narcissa was a force of nature." He pursed his lips for a moment, and then continued reluctantly, "I appreciate your willingness to abandon your plans toward Miss Granger."

Lucius arched an amused eyebrow as he seated himself. "It was an idle supposition, discarded the moment I received your letter the following morning." He glanced about himself at the living space and added quietly, "I see that you appear to have adopted them quite easily. I had not thought it of you."

"What?" Severus frowned and denied, "No. My plans remain unchanged. We are merely examining and routing her discomfort and fear. Nothing more."

The blonde's look was condescending. "Severus, she has clearly moved in."

Severus felt his scowl deepen. "We jointly decided that since my duties require my presence here at odd hours and that she could Floo to work just as easily here as from her own home that it would be wise if she were to stay a few days," he explained, and then added redundantly, _"Temporarily."_

Lucius snorted and managed to do even that elegantly. "Severus, it's summer. What duties could you possibly have? You have also cleared shelf space for some of her books. For you, that's tantamount to a proposal; it's certainly more serious than closet space."

"I dislike clutter; her things were in the way," he protested. He knew he sounded defensive—he bloody well _felt_ defensive—but clearly the older man had entirely the wrong idea about what was going on between himself and Hermione. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that taunted him with the thought that he hoped _Hermione_ had entirely the wrong idea as well.

"I see." The man's tone was mocking, "I suppose she had nothing to do with your sudden urge for smooth legs, either. You've taken up competitive swimming, I imagine."

Severus' developing foul mood settled more firmly, and he muttered caustically, "Couldn't leave it, could you? We were bathing and the silly chit knocked a bottle of depilatory into the bath whilst not paying attention. It was rather effective."

Lucius roared with laughter, and Severus had to remind himself not to hex one of his dearest and oldest companions. "The _bath_ you say? Indeed. It will be entertaining to see you in three months, when it is growing back in. I hear sensitive areas can be made quite uncomfortable by the process."

Severus gripped his wand tighter, and shot back, "You would know, I am to assume?"

The other's look became bland. "Narcissa used to fuss horribly about it. Where is Miss Granger, anyway? Isn't she supposed to be lolling about in your bed?"

"Lucius," Severus hissed it through clenched teeth. "I asked you here for a specific reason."

The older man's smile faded and he stated simply, "Yes, I remember. Are you certain this is what you want, old friend? I have no wish to ruin our friendship. It nearly didn't survive when I asked the same of you." He hesitated, and then added, "I _did_ regret my actions afterwards."

Severus shifted, uncomfortable with the frankness of their conversation. "I cannot say that I would not have done the same. You were newly married, and I cared a great deal for Narcissa. She got to have us both and you got your point across very neatly. You both knew I wouldn't refuse."

Lucius grimaced slightly. "You are more forgiving than I would be."

"It was many years ago, Lucius. We were all very young then."

His friend shot him a knowing look. "As Miss Granger is now. If it helps, I will swear that I have no intentions of pursuing her afterwards."

"She wouldn't have you if you did," Severus shot back acerbically. "It took her a full week to decide she wanted to try this; I think her curiosity finally got the better of her after I mentioned it."

_"You_ mentioned it?" The other man was clearly surprised by the admission, and Severus couldn't stop himself from grimacing.

"I was angry."

Lucius' lips pressed together, clearly holding back a smile. "How very…Gryffindor of you."

"Fuck you," he responded irritably. "This whole conversation is too Gryffindor by half. You're getting soft and sentimental in your dotage, old man."

The blonde laughed. "I'm rather looking forward to this; reminds me of when we were in St. Petersburg, just before Draco was born. Remember that little Russian redhead we fought over?"

"That was Yaxley you fought with. He won, her name was Sofia, and she was Bulgarian, Lucius."

"Ah, yes, Sofia. How _do_ you remember all that?"

"He married her, Lucius. Karkaroff insisted when he found out, remember?"

His friend looked genuinely surprised. "Did he? Why did he care?" Lucius shrugged, "I was only involved in the whole affair because Narcissa had locked me out of her bedroom for the last two months of her pregnancy." Lucius was quietly contemplative for a moment, and then asked, "I wonder whatever _did_ happen to Madam Yaxley?"

Severus fought not to roll his eyes. The two men sat in silence for a moment, until Lucius ventured idly, "Is she aware that you are no longer beholden to her?"

Severus stiffened. Lucius was too good at playing ignorant when he was not, and then using it to catch people off guard. It was a talent that had served him well both socially and politically since he was a child attending Hogwarts himself. Severus scowled in response, unwilling to give him a definite answer.

"Ah. I see. Why would you arrange this, then? You were never the sort of man who shared easily. She doesn't seem to be the type, either."

Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to release his tension along with it. "She suspects, at the least. I think she isn't sure, and that she is honestly curious to find out if I am her only option. I am inclined to give it to her. I have no desire to be a last resort and this may be…this may be what she needs."

Lucius' gaze was steady. "She might simply be testing to see if you would deny the request in a fit of jealousy, or grasping at straws to keep you from sending her away."

"It's a bit too late for that, now, old friend."

"I'm not certain that's true," Lucius mused. "Ladies do so love the drama of a man calling out another over them."

Hermione chose that moment to reappear from wherever she had disappeared to during his bath, appearing to open his door with her elbow as she attempted to juggle a slim stack of books in one hand and a tray of fruit in the other. She was dressed simply in cashmere robes that might have been able to pass as a Muggle dress, her apparent favoured style. Her thick hair had been tamed out of her eyes into a messy braid from which several tendrils had haphazardly escaped, and she wore no cosmetics or jewellery.

She looked enchanting to him and Severus was struck by the rather absurd urge to kiss her for no reason. Not for the first time that week, he wondered why in the hell he _had_ agreed to let Lucius join them.

"Ah, Miss Granger, we were just discussing you." Lucius Malfoy stood to greet her, his smile overtly charming. Hermione looked up from her burdens with a start, her eyes widening with awareness when she registered his presence and what it meant. Lucius smiled urbanely and continued, "I like your hair."

Severus, hearing the sarcastic undercurrent, very nearly snapped that her horrid hair was utterly perfect and only just caught himself from the embarrassing display when Hermione lifted her chin and eyebrow in response, replying with equal dryness, "Thank you. If you like, I can do yours next."

Lucius laughed at that, clearly approving, and retook his seat, twirling his walking stick in one hand. "Alas, Miss Granger, my hair is so fine. It never holds a braid well."

"Perhaps you should use elastic, instead of pretty bow next time you try," Severus found himself sniping, referring to the queue his friend had favoured for a while.

Hermione turned her raised brow on _him_ at that point, and commented, "Mr. Malfoy is not the only gentleman in the room with hair long enough to braid, Severus."

Lucius adopted an innocent expression and offered, "I can hold him down for you, if you like." The words prompted a memory to flash behind Severus' eyes from nearly twenty years previous.

_Unnaturally pale hair spilled over his naked shoulder like fine corn silk, matching that of the man who stood before him. Lucius had used dark velvet ropes to bind him to a St Andrew's Cross in the lush master bedroom of Malfoy Manor, while his equally pale wife watched with anticipation, licking her lips._

_Her hair had been elaborately styled and kohl had smudged her eyes; she had worn a fortune in Malfoy jewels and nothing else, including, he had been surprised to see, an emerald winking decadently from her clitoris._

_Lucius had seen him looking, and had reached out a hand to touch it, causing his wife of barely three months to moan. "Do you like it? I arranged to have it done a few days before our wedding. She came to my bed for the first time a trembling virgin, already wearing a symbol of my ownership in her cunt. It was more satisfying to me than seeing my ring on her hand." His gaze transferred back to Narcissa, and he asked softly, "Am I not a generous husband, darling, to drape you in emeralds and then grant your request to have him as well?"_

_The woman Severus had been infatuated with for the last year and more had leant her head against Lucius' thigh, and sighed, "Yes…most generous, husband."_

_"Be a good girl then, while I've got him tied down, and show him how happy you are he's joined us." Lucius' gazed had locked with Severus' even as Narcissa's mouth had wrapped around his cock, the first one to ever do so, and his whole world had gone red._

Severus shook his head slightly, dislodging the memory. The night had not ended there, of course. They had both taken Narcissa that night in a variety of ways—and each other—indulging in dark games Severus had never dreamt of trying, and had not really wished to since.

As if reading his mind, Lucius smirked at him, and Severus shook his head again. No. Not like that. Not again.

Seemingly oblivious to their exchange, Hermione dropped the books she was carrying onto one of the tables, followed by the tray of fruit she had apparently procured for breakfast. Turning about to face them again, she continued cheerfully, "Well, if we're going to do this _that_ way, we might as well make a sport of it like the Greeks. Shall I get the oil?"

"See, now, I just _knew_ you had a wicked streak. Severus, I've decided that I would be delighted to join you on a debauched romp with Miss Granger, and you have my full blessing to keep her afterwards. It isn't often we come across a woman who is not intimidated by either of us."

Gods. He was going to kill Lucius. Slowly, painfully, and with great pleasure. "We have a few rules, Lucius." He ground out, his hands clutching the arms of his chair.

Lucius sniffed disapprovingly. "I suppose you're about to take all the fun out of it? No toys or buggery or eye-contact."

Hermione stared up at him, confusion writ on her face. "No eye-contact?" she inquired.

Lucius sneered and clarified, "Apparently it isn't gay if there is no eye-contact. Ask your Weasley boy about it sometime."

Severus sighed resignedly as Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Ronald is…are you sure, I mean you've…wait! How long ago?"

The wicked light had re-lit in Lucius' eyes, and he leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "A gentleman never kisses and tells, Miss Granger."

"Sweet Circe," she said faintly, then almost absently, she added, "Call me Hermione, will you?"

The blonde nodded. "Indeed, and you must call me Lucius." His gaze became very serious, and he said, "I am honoured that you would give me this chance to redeem my family's name with yours. Neither I, nor my immediate family, may have been there at the time, but I am told that you suffered greatly whilst on the premises of my home, and at the hands of my sister-in-law and her companions. I apologise most humbly for this, and render myself at your disposal to rectify matters."

The words hung heavily between them; Hermione stood frozen like an animal caught in direct wandlight, uncertain how to respond. Several moments passed, until Severus cleared his throat, loudly, bringing both of their attention back to him. His eyes met Hermione's briefly, then shifted to Lucius. "Hermione and I have been using stoplight colours," he began, and then scowled as his friend's eyes crinkled in pleased amusement.

He waited to be certain that Lucius was going to not interrupt before continuing, "No holding or tying her down. Everything gets explained first, and then she gets to decide if she wants to continue. No springing anything on her, and in this particular instance, protestation is _not_ part of the game."

Hermione stirred, restless, and finally interjected, "How does one even go about starting something like this? Obviously, I never have, and frankly, this all feels a bit awkward and nerve wracking to me. We haven't really discussed what is even going to happen. I mean, Severus and I have—I want him here, and I am not opposed to touching both of you, but I don't wish to do something the both of _you_ are not comfortable with, and…and how does one even proceed? Does Severus just watch, or do you take turns, or—"

"If I might make a suggestion, and perhaps offer some reassurance?" Lucius cut her off, standing once more, a jerk of his chin propelling Severus to his feet as well.

Hermione's breath seemed to catch, and she nodded, her gaze flicking between Severus to Lucius and back again.

"I have played with multiple partners on many occasions, and find doing so thoroughly enjoyable. I am aware of at least one instance where Severus has as well." A brow cocked in his direction, and Severus found himself nodding slightly. It was not something he preferred, but there was no denying the strength of his orgasms that night, or the anticipation that pricked at him even now at the thought of doing so again.

His nod seemed to reassure Hermione, and her tension visibly lessened. She turned back to Lucius, and appeared to gather herself, before saying, "You had mentioned a suggestion?"

Lucius drew his wand with a subtle twist of the serpent topping his walking stick, then removed a handkerchief from his coat. A delicate flutter of his wand and a murmured spell had it lengthening, transfiguring into a long strip of soft cloth. "You do not wish to be bound, but perhaps you will consent to a blindfold? It might, perhaps, be easier for you if nothing is required of you at first but to focus on what you are feeling."

Hermione jerked slightly, her eyes flying to meet Severus' again, clearly waiting for his opinion on the matter. The mental image of her naked and blindfolded between them, all soft skin and slight curves caused a definite reaction in him—a siren call to that darker side of himself that he had packed away a long time previously.

He could see a hopeful hint of relief in her expression that she wouldn't have to take the lead, warring with her anxiety that she wouldn't be able to see what was coming, and tipped his lips at her in a reassuring smile. Without removing his gaze from hers, he held a hand out to Lucius, silently requesting the blindfold.

The other man passed it to him, and Severus asked her softly, "Would you like me to do it?"

Her breath shuddered out and her eyes closed in the decision to trust him, her "Yes," barely audible. Severus ran the cloth up her cheek, caressing her softly with it, alerting her of his close presence, and felt her shiver in reaction. He wound the cloth around her head gently but firmly, looping it twice before tying it securely at the back of her head.

"Comfortable?" he asked. "Not too tight, too loose?"

"No. I mean, yes, it's fine," she whispered.

Severus slowly stroked his hands up and down her arms, lowered his mouth to her ear, and spoke cajolingly, "You are the epitome of your house, Hermione, so bold and brave, a true lioness in all her glory."

His words seemed to do as he intended, bolstering her nerves. She stood a little straighter, her chin lifting. Severus met Lucius' eyes over her shoulder and gave him a short nod, and with a small smile, the other man began to divest himself of his clothes in small jerks, folding them neatly into a pile on the chair he had been occupying.

Severus continued to speak to her softly, using the low timbre of his voice almost hypnotically. "You should see the look on Lucius' face right now, Hermione. His eyes are bright and hard with desire for you; I can see his hands actually shake slightly in his eagerness. He wants you nearly as much as I do, I believe."

Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, nudging the blindfold a little as he did so, Severus urged her head to the side, kissing the exposed line of her throat softly. Her breath released in a small moan—he had discovered early on that the sensitive skin there was one of her favourite places to be stimulated. He continued to nibble and suck her skin there, running his hands over her frame to stroke her rear, trace her waist and cup her breasts through her dress. He slowly released the knot at her hip that tied the ruched and wrapped robes together, unwrapping her in easy, sensual motions.

Lucius' gaze turned to watch with interest as Severus slowly drew the soft material down, using it to caress her skin and tease her already puckered nipples. She had foregone a bra, her small breasts not really demanding the garment, and they now stood bare in the soft lamplight, pale and creamy mounds just begging to be touched and plucked at.

By this juncture, Lucius was already naked, having stripped in front of him without the slightest hint of discomfort in doing so. He was in very good shape, Severus ascertained, though not, he noted smugly, quite as much as Severus was. Despite the other man's ribbing of Severus' hairless state, his own habits from his youth had not changed overly much; he was neatly groomed himself.

Severus' slow revealing and stroking of Hermione in front of him now caused the other man's cock to rapidly harden, rising in minute surges and pushing back his foreskin as he studied the scene in front of him. Severus let her robes drop to the floor around her feet, leaving her in only her knickers, and was slightly gratified to see Lucius' breath hitch in response.

Severus straightened behind her and drew her nearly naked form firmly against his, letting her feel his own hardening erection through his trousers against the curves of her arse. He continued to speak to her idly, cupping his hand over her knickers, rubbing her lightly through the cloth.

"Can you feel how hard I am getting, having you here like this, in my arms, Hermione? It's nothing new to you by now. You know the slightest thought of your skin, your taste, is enough to arouse me. You are doing the same thing to him…I can see the want on his face, the urge to bury his tongue in your cunt and feel you cry with pleasure under his hands."

She shuddered in his arms, and the cloth under his fingers dampened with her arousal. Severus' lips dragged across her cheekbone and pressed a kiss to her temple, just above the edge of her blindfold. His fingers edged their way under her waistband and ghosted over her clit, causing her to moan loudly.

Severus fondled a bare breast with his other hand, reaching around her so that the fabric of his coat scraped along her skin. Hermione tilted back more firmly into his arms, wriggling her bottom delightfully against his erection. His balls reflexively tightened, and he delved his fingers more firmly into her wetness, drawing a gasp from her.

A glance at Lucius showed that the other man had his hand firmly around his own cock, stroking himself in even pumps as he watched Severus pleasure his lover. "Come here, Lucius," he found himself inviting. "Let her touch you and feel what she's done to you."

The blonde strode forward without hesitation, still holding his cock, until he stood directly in front of them. Severus abandoned Hermione's breast and gently grasped her wrist, explaining softly, "I am going to put your hand directly on his chest and let go. What you decide to do from there is up to you, love."

The endearment came out before he could stop it, and Lucius' expression turned smug, but he thankfully didn't say anything about it. Hermione did not seem to notice; she merely nodded against his shoulder, the soft coils of her hair rasping against the fabric of his coat. He withdrew his other hand from her knickers and took her other wrist, then placed both of her palms gently against the planes of Lucius' chest, and watched with interest as she took a slow breath, and curled her nails into his skin slightly.

Lucius's eyes dilated and his own hands rose to her hips, holding her firmly in place even as Severus withdrew his own hands. Severus stroked them down her back, allowing her to feel the sensation of both men touching her simultaneously, ending with his fingers tucked into the waistband of her knickers again. He dragged them down slowly, brushing his knuckles against her thighs as he bared her entirely to Lucius' gaze.

His friend made a low, rumbling sound, and when he finally spoke his voice slightly rough. "Look at you, completely bare. I hadn't expected to see that on a sweet little innocent like you. Severus is correct, you know. You look _delicious."_

Severus removed his hands from her entirely, and set about removing his own clothes, watching a little enviously as Hermione's hands began to smooth over and explore the other man. They paused over his nipples, pinching softly, and ran down his stomach and back up again, avoiding his erection by a narrow margin. He watched as Lucius' hands tightened minutely on her hips, his cock seeming to actually quiver with impatience.

Her hands glided over his chest again, and her voice came softly, "You don't have chest hair, like Ron."

Blond eyebrows arched and Lucius responded, "I remove it, Hermione. My late wife preferred it that way and I grew used to it."

She didn't respond, but shifted her palms down his stomach again, this time tentatively stroking his cock as well. Her fingers learned the difference between his uncut state and Severus' own circumcised penis, dragging her thumb over the hood of skin and smearing the drop of pre-cum at Lucius' tip. Only then did his hands move at last, sliding over her body to close over her breasts, his hips tilting a bit to thrust in her hands.

Finally naked, Severus re-joined them, unable to simply watch while Lucius touched and fondled his woman—_Hermione,_ he corrected himself—without him any longer. He added his hands to Lucius', deftly squeezing and caressing her skin and burying his head back into the curve of her shoulder to nuzzle her throat.

She groaned again and pulled Lucius closer to her, pressing him up against her bare breasts even as she flexed the curves of her arse back against Severus' erection again. Her head tipped back slightly, and suddenly Lucius' long hair was tickling Severus' bare shoulder as he firmly kissed Hermione. That was Lucius' hand suddenly tangling in his own hair, he realised, the other man's long fingers massaging his scalp with one hand, and pinching Hermione's breast with the other.

Severus insistently stroked her chin until he broke their kiss, tilting her head back further to kiss her himself, using his tongue to try to remind her of his previous claim. Lucius' low chuckle reverberated through her to him, and Severus found himself grinding forward more insistently, sandwiching her firmly between them. The three of them continued to rub against and with each other, an uncoordinated tangle of lips and hands and aroused flesh, until Severus finally drew back with a slightly ragged breath, and said, "This will be more comfortable in the bedroom."

Lucius shot him a lazy smile, and said, "Shall I carry you there, Hermione? It would be a shame to remove your blindfold when it's been working so well."

Severus gave him a flinty look, which only made the other man's grin widen, and attempted to not overtly sulk like a child when she breathily murmured her assent. Lucius gathered the naked woman up in his arms, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist the same way they had around his own their first night together, and carried her sedately into Severus' bedchambers.

Severus followed, snagging his wand from where he had left it on the floor and eyeing the flex of the other man's buttocks under Hermione's crossed ankles with interest. Once in the other room, Lucius laid her down on Severus' bed, then immediately flowed down her body to spread her thighs over his shoulders, and set to work on her quim with enthusiasm. He startled a short cry from Hermione, whose hands immediately delved into his long hair, gripping his head and thrusting her pelvis in time with his actions.

Severus crawled over the far end of the bed, dropping his wand beside him while his other hand gripped his cock and tugged, trying unsuccessfully to ease the pressure building there. A low flush had risen across Hermione's pale, slightly freckled cheekbones and had travelled down her throat to her breasts, her small brown nipples swayed slightly as her hips pushed against Lucius' mouth.

Her lips were an inviting shade of pink and parted, and Severus edged closer, running the head of his cock along her cheek and jaw. Her head turned slightly toward him, her lips grazing his flesh, and her tongue flashed out lightly, licking the side of him. Severus grunted softly, and tried to angle himself so that she could take him in her mouth, but she wasn't able to reach.

Hermione, sensing his frustration, squirmed a little and moaned, then breathed out, "Let me turn over." Lucius laid her legs back down, and moved out of the way briefly while she scrambled over onto her stomach, and then her hand was blindly seeking his erection, trying to guide it into her mouth.

Severus helped her, and soon his cock was sliding into that gloriously soft, wet suction, his hands cupping the sides of her blindfold as he tried to guide her movements. His eyes closed and he enjoyed the feeling for a long moment, her lips and tongue stroking and tugging on his cock, her hot fingers curling around and rolling his balls.

She suddenly grunted and let out a long moan, taking his cock deeper than usual and sending a ripple of incredible vibrations down his shaft. Severus groaned in answer, opening his eyes to see that Lucius had risen to his knees behind her and sheathed himself to the hilt. His friend's eyes were slitted as he took in the initial feeling of her clasping him, before hissing through his teeth, "Fuck, it's been too long."

His eyes snapped open and met Severus' in a shock of steel gray, and he carefully withdrew from Hermione. She pulled back on Severus' cock as well, her lips tightening excruciatingly around his head before sucking him in again as Lucius hips snapped forward in a hard thrust. They continued this way for a while, Lucius' steady pumping jolting her back and forth on his cock until her every line tightened and she loudly expressed her approval.

Lucius moaned with her, clearly enjoying the feel of her coming around him, and then suddenly hauled her more firmly up on her knees, dislodging her from Severus. Severus fell back and straightened his legs into a more comfortable position and watched their expressions, stroking himself in time to his friend's thrusts.

Lucius pounded into her in fast, jerking movements, ruthlessly fucking as she gasped on her hands and knees, her breasts jiggling delightfully from his motions. His friend came like a freight train, his hair in disarray and his chest heaving. His stormy eyes finally slid shut again, breaking contact with Severus' own.

As soon as he released her to collapse back on his heels, Hermione sat up and tore her blindfold off, tossing it the side. She knelt there a moment on his bed uncertainly, dripping with her and Lucius' combined juices, her eyes fuzzed with passion.

Severus felt his lip curl in a half snarl and he grabbed his wand from the bed next to him, and aimed it at her with a sharp flick, ridding her thighs of Lucius seed. Tossing it back down he reached for her and she half crawled, half fell into his arms, her mouth meshing with his even as her hands stroked over his chest.

"I like your chest hair," she said nonsensically, and kissed him again, rubbing her breasts against him. After a moment she pulled back and her soft brown eyes searched his for a moment as if looking for reassurance, before she suddenly turned in his arms to face Lucius. "I want to see what he looks like."

His friend looked smugly satisfied, but a bit tired; under Hermione's gaze he straightened, attempting to show himself to the best advantage. She studied him openly, her eyes running over his chest and arms, lingering on his slowly softening cock and the muscle in his bunched thighs as he knelt.

"Hermione," he drawled, bringing her gaze back up to his, and arching an eyebrow reprovingly. "You've left a lover unsatisfied. Why don't you scoot back into his arms and let him lift you onto him this way, facing me? That way I can get a nice, good look at watching my friend shaft you. If you're a very good girl, I'll even help."

He felt her shiver in his arms, and per the blonde's instructions, scooted back into Severus, leaning in to him. Severus arched an eyebrow over her shoulder at Lucius, using his chin to dislodge her now hopelessly frizzy braid from his vision. Arranging Hermione's thighs over his, spreading her wide to Lucius' gaze, Severus lifted her and manoeuvred himself in place, then let her drop with a satisfying smack of flesh. She was slick, despite his cleansing charm, and feverishly hot.

Severus stroked the inside of her thighs gently, soothingly, rolling his hips to catch the inside of her sensitive core the way he had learned she liked best. It was a bit more difficult to thrust in this position, but as in the prefect's bath, it did offer him an unimpeded route to her clitoris, and he took advantage of it.

"Ah! A little more gently, please?" She whispered, her body shivering in his arms. "It's so, _so_ sensitive now!"

Severus immediately softened his touch, stroking just around the tiny nub instead of directly on it. His hips rolled, her back arched, and a fresh trickle of moisture dampened the base of his cock. He swirled his fingers in it, then brought it to her right breast, rubbing it gently over the tip of it.

"Lucius, you promised to help, and I can attest that she is in this, like everything else she tries, brilliantly good." He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, and said for her ears alone, "Insufferable know-it-all." His words seemed to trigger something inside her and she moaned again, satisfyingly loudly.

Smirk in place, he jerked an eyebrow at Lucius, who gamely crawled forward to draw the tip of her anointed breast into his mouth. She cried out again, the sound ragged as her orgasm slowly built inside her for the second time. Lucius pulled back, her nipple caught gently between his teeth, tugging. Severus' rolled his hips again, circling and stroking her where they were joined. Hermione's head jerked back and she whimpered, nearly crying from stimulation.

Lucius abandoned her reddened nipple to sink to his elbows, impatiently flicked Severus' hand away, and set about licking them together where Severus continued to slowly rotate his hips, never quite thrusting. The other man's tongue flicked over his cock, stimulating and titillating him to an almost painful level of excitement, then focused on Hermione, doing something in tandem with Severus' hips that made her _scream._

Her fingers were caught in large fistfuls of Lucius' hair, her legs spread almost painfully wide over Severus' thighs, held in place by his hands gripping her hips. Lucius' tilted his head again slightly, changing the angle of what he was doing to her, and she screamed again and spasmed around Severus' cock, drenching it with a hot rush of liquid, her inner muscles fluttering wildly.

Lucius' lips ghosted around the edges where Severus cock was still flexing, sucking at her juices and licking the base of his cock. He lowered a bit further, and then the flat of his tongue was dragging across the underside of Severus' balls, returning to skate the edge of his perineum and…gods, daringly flicked against the edge of his anus. Unable to hold back longer, Severus shifted Hermione above him, drawing out slightly to thrust as far inside her as he could manage.

His eyes nearly crossed, he came so hard, the vague thought floating through his mind that if he pumped himself deeply enough in her, he might manage to shove himself all the way into her heart and keep her with him.

_Fucking mad,_ he thought tiredly, his body protectively folding around hers as she collapsed back against him. _We're_ all _fucking mad._ Hermione turned into a more comfortable position, her legs tangling with his as she snuggled against his chest. Vaguely, he felt the bed next to them depress as Lucius joined them, tucking himself along their length and tossing one leg over his to intertwine with hers, dropping an arm over them both to enjoy what was apparently going to be a post-coital, aftercare snuggle for three.

* * *

He drifted into consciousness when the bed shifted, possibly minutes, possibly hours later. Hermione mumbled something incoherently through her barely constrained hair and snuggled her face back into his armpit, where it had apparently ended up.

The disturbance turned out to be Lucius, rising from the bed to stand nearby, stretching and rolling his muscles slowly. He twisted, and soft pops emitted from his spine; his head tilted to more of the same. He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, and glanced back down at where Severus looked at him blurrily.

The other man's gaze wandered over them and his cock twitched; his mouth jerked in a crooked smile. "You are a better friend than I deserve, including me in that," he said softly, nodding his head back at the tangled mess of woman still half in Severus' arms. "It's been…very lonely since Narcissa died. Don't let this one go, old friend. I think she's very well suited to you, and you'll regret it the rest of your life if you do." He padded naked for the door, clearly intending to grab his belongings and leave.

Severus found himself calling out softly after him, asking quietly, "What do you plan on doing now?"

The older man's lips twisted again, and he responded pointedly, "I'll not be propositioning her; I swore I wouldn't. I _do_ think that it's past time I found myself a suitable wife, however. I'm not a man who does well without one." An eyebrow arched airily. "Perhaps I'll look up the Russian redhead; the widow Yaxley. What was her name again?"

Severus found himself smiling, despite himself, and hugged the witch in his arms a little more tightly. "Sofia, Lucius, and she's Bulgarian."

"Whatever," he shrugged offhandedly. "Redheads look stunning in emeralds." He disappeared through the door, and within several minutes, Severus found himself drifting back into the blissful black.

* * *

Awkward.

There was no more perfect word to describe what he felt at this moment, buttoning the nine thousand, seven hundred and eighty-four buttons that his shirt and coat seemed to have. He watched her tug her dress on and tie it to her specifications, so that it once more floated and draped about her calves. Her perfect, perfect calves.

Unless it was, perhaps, dying; that word might fit his current mental state as well, he reflected. He shook his head, disgusted with himself, and sternly reminded himself that 'dying' was an incredibly dramatic word, especially after only three weeks. He frowned at his shirt and noticed an odd ripple where he'd missed a buttonhole. _Fuck._

Severus began to unbutton the ninety-eight hundred buttons in his way to get to the missed spot, grumbling under his breath.

"What was that?" Hermione twisted to look at him, an odd expression her face, and he felt himself colour. Since when did he blush? Or talk to himself?

"I didn't say anything," he responded shortly. _Fucking buttons._

"Oh," she said quietly. "I…I suppose I should pack."

Severus grunted and stomped back into his bedroom, unable to face her. If he did, he might resort to the hideous prospect of begging. He had begged for Lily, and she had chosen Potter. He had begged Narcissa, and she had chosen Lucius. He wouldn't beg Hermione. She had sought him out deliberately to help her get over her sexual _problem,_ and he had delivered to the best of his ability, going so far as to even do what he had sworn never to do again: share with his best friend.

Sure, Lucius could say magnanimously all he bloody wanted that he wouldn't pursue Hermione, but that didn't mean she would automatically choose Severus. All it meant was that he wouldn't have to watch while Lucius Malfoy married the woman he wanted _again._

"Small fucking favours," he muttered. He stormed into his bathroom and stared at his reflection, sneer in place. His shirt was finally done up more or less properly, though it was wrinkled badly enough that he might as well have slept in it. His coat lamentably still hung askew with its forty-eight hundred and thirty-two buttons left to do.

_It isn't love,_ his mind said rationally. _Three weeks of sex, even glorious sex, isn't love._

"I know that!" he growled at his reflection, "but it's a possibility; it's a start. It's a bloody beginning to something that might be the best fucking thing that could happen to me, if the premise wasn't entirely idiotic!"

His reflection looked confused, and to his irritation said, "I'm not sure what you're on about, dearie, but it would be a _better_ start if you cut your hair. It makes your face look so long…"

_I will not hex the mirror, I will not hex the mirror, I will not hex the mirror._ Severus chanted it to himself over and over in his head as he finally, _finally_ got his damn buttons secured. He gave himself another cursory glance and tossed his head back, letting his greasy hair settle about him like armour.

When he marched back out into the sitting room, she was still gathering the random things that she had invaded his space with, tucking them into her absurdly small bag: her books, her favourite quill, her stupid, fuzzy pink socks that she used like slippers.

To his horror, he found himself blurting, "Do you plan on returning on weekends to continue your arithmantic work for me?" The _last_ thing he needed was for her to drop by and work in close quarters with him, looking and smelling like…like herself. It would bloody well be torture, and might quite possibly drive him more insane than he already was.

Considering that his mental history already included several years of playing hide and seek with a despot, preferring to live in the dungeons, teaching snotty brats and holding out vague hope that a girl literally half his age would randomly decide to be his lover indefinitely, that was already a great deal of insanity. The girl in question blinked at him, owlishly, and fiddled with the strap of her bag. _If she had pearls, she would have clutched them in horror,_ he thought, bitterly.

"I would like to, yes," she said slowly, her gaze searching his.

_Fuck._

She took a deep breath and he found himself hyper-aware of her breasts shifting under the soft fabric of her dress. She wasn't wearing a bra, he remembered absently. His gaze lingered, now attempting to find the little peaks of her nipples through the dress. She shifted and he suddenly realised he was overtly ogling her breasts in front of her, and his gaze snapped back up to hers.

She was pretty when she blushed, he noted. _That_ of course lead him to the memory of her blush spreading down over her throat and breasts, and gods _damn_ it, he was thinking about her breasts again. He missed her question the first time—more proof that he was fucking round the bend—and was forced to ask her to repeat herself.

She stammered, she hemmed, she blushed again and looked awkward. Then she finally repeated, "I was actually thinking that I might give Minerva's offer some thought," she paused uncertainly and then clarified unnecessarily, "of teaching here; either Arithmancy or Transfiguration. I wouldn't, however, want to make things awkward for you. That is, I know it might be terribly…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly, and his heart ached.

"You should do what makes you happy," he said stiffly. "That's the point of everything you've done so far, isn't it? You fought the war, you fought the press, you fought your boyfriend's cruel remarks and your own nightmares and phobias. If you didn't go through all that for the chance to do what made you happy, then why did you? If teaching idiots is what will make you happy, then…" Severus cut himself off and turned away from her, choosing instead to focus on Narcissa Malfoy's bloody tapestry. Surely there was something terribly important about it, after all.

"What makes me happy?" She gave a soft little sigh. "I...you probably don't want to hear this, and I understand it's terribly naive of me, but...I don't want to leave here. You, I mean. I really, really don't," she whispered from behind him. "If you want; I mean, if you ever…" her voice faltered again and he heard her shift her weight slightly.

Severus' heart thudded to a screeching halt and his breath seized for one long, interminable minute. They hadn't made any promises to each other; he hadn't really held any hope that he might be able to keep her, despite her passionate response to him. Had she not responded with equal fervour to Lucius? Seeing her do it had made him achingly aware of how much of fool he had been to allow it, and how much he was losing in this deal. How much he had hoped beyond all stupid logic that it _was_ only him she reacted that way to.

That she wished to stay was the last thing he had expected to hear from her.

His shoulders rigid, Severus finally turned to look at her, and commented quietly, "It won't be the same. I'm not a pleasant man much of the time, and I do not share. If you _were_ to stay, it would be with me, and only me."

Some of the tension in her eyes seemed to relax at his pronouncement; her jaw loosened slightly. "What if I were to say that I had no desire to do that again? That it was…enjoyable, and enlightening, but not what I really want? What if I'm quite certain that I would only ever need you to keep me more than satisfied and interested?"

She fiddled with her bag again, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white. "I'll not lie to you; I'm a bossy, swotty arithmancer who is terrible at cooking and will likely attempt to read your notes before you've even finished them, but I want to be with you." Her eyes lifted to his again, her expression slightly pleading. "I want to stay here with you."

"Then stay," he answered, all elegant speech deserting him as he choked out, "If you want to stay, here, with me, then just...stay."

Her smile blossomed and her bag hit the floor with an incongruously heavy _clunk._ Then his arms were full of witch, and he couldn't even bring himself to be upset by the fact that she had completely bowled him over and that his arse was likely bruised.

(The End)

* * *

_A/N: This is it! The final chapter! Thank you so much for joining me along the ride for my first completed longer fic. I wrote this for round one of the SSHG Prompt Fest on Live Journal; round two is just now starting and still accepting prompt requests. :-) You do NOT have write or be an artist in order to prompt, and you do NOT have to prompt in order to fulfill a fic or art prompt! I highly encourage everyone to check it out! Link to their page is __on my profile. :-)_

_A review would be highly appreciated! As I said earlier, this is my first completed multi-chapter, and it also includes my first threesome. I was very nervous about trying to include that and Hermione's sexual PTSD in the same fic as per the prompt, and I would love feedback!_

_Thanks again and love to all! - Tyche_


End file.
